


Elysium

by IndefeasibleZed, SomethingProfound



Series: A Sea of Stars [1]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Action, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Gen, Pre-Canon, War Hero (Mass Effect), milscifi, skyllian blitz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24354523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndefeasibleZed/pseuds/IndefeasibleZed, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomethingProfound/pseuds/SomethingProfound
Summary: After months of chasing and fighting pirates in the Attican Traverse, the Alliance cruiser SSV Cairo visits the planet of Elysium. A young lieutenant, her experienced sergeant and platoon visit the capital Illyria for much needed rest; but what was meant to be shore leave turns into the fight of their lives. In the middle of a burning city, Lieutenant Shepard must decide the type of officer she is - and how far she’s willing to go for victory.
Relationships: Female Shepard/Original Female Character
Series: A Sea of Stars [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/787740
Comments: 36
Kudos: 28





	1. Shore Leave

It was an uncharacteristically warm day for Elysium, a staggering 26 degrees, which lent much of the populace to wearing short, summery clothes. The Marines (and sailors) of the SSV _Cairo_ , who were on shore leave on the planet, were no exception.

The Platoon Sergeant, Tan, was currently wearing a blue Hawaiian shirt, adorned in white flowers, tucked into a pair of cream-white cargo shorts sporting a very stylish brown belt. His socks, white, designed for sportswear, were pulled up, tight against his ankles, which meant his blue-and-black running shoes were not out of place. The grey Marine Corps holster, that ran a strap along his body and currently held a white service pistol was, however, quite out of place.

He was out with the more senior NCOs of the ship’s Marine Detachment, currently sitting in a sports bar, sipping on a chilled glass of (expensive) orange-and-mango soda water. Oddly, for most Marines anyway, Tan didn't drink and never had in fact, something that tended to impress a lot of grizzled veterans and infuriated the younger ones.

His platoon’s squad leaders, Sergeants Vanh, Rosenberg, and Whitman, and Hospital Corpsman Third Class Tilki, the platoon medic, were also wearing holiday clothes and enjoying a few drinks, theirs notably much more alcoholic.

From behind a bottle of cider, Vanh looked evenly at her platoon sergeant. “Duc,” she said.

“Mmm?”

“You look like my dad.”

“Hmm?”

“The Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts. How are you, uncle?”

Tan grinned. The other NCOs all began laughing and guffawing. Tan offered Vanh a middle finger. “Suck it. At least I’m not drinking like your auntie.” He pointed to the side at Rosenberg, who was currently nursing a massive, rounded glass, which contained an electric blue liquid.

“Yeah, true,” Vanh retorted. Rosenberg looked unhappy.

“I think he’s getting drunk enough to start sleeping with sailors,” jeered Whitman.

“Ah, fuck you,” came Rosenberg’s reply.

“Nah, fuck me, huh? That’s what you want?” Tilki started slapping his knee, mouth open in silent, mocking laughter.

“Alright, alright.” Tan offered a hand, trying to calm the laughter at Rosenberg’s expense. “We came to watch a game. I got 200 credits riding on the Shanxi Slayers.”

For the moment, they seemed quelled.

“I’ve gotta take a leak.” The Hospitalman excused himself, heading over to the bathrooms and disappearing within.

Tan was happily watching the game and enjoying the sensation of icy cold flavoured water filling his stomach and cooling him from inside.

There was a distant rumbling from somewhere in the distance that gave him pause.

“Is that… artillery?”

Tan cocked his head to the side. “I don’t know. It’s not 155’s... “

“Relax.” Rosenberg shrugged the noise off. “It’s probably just a drill.”

“An Army drill without standing us to? While we’re on shore leave?”

“You know what the brass is like, Staff, they couldn’t organise a root in a brothel.”

“Yeah…” But Tan was uncomfortable, he walked over to the door, peering out. Another rumble rocked the ground and shook the windows. He saw it this time, in the distance, near the edge of his vision, a great muzzle flash from a weapon jutting just above the skyline. It was the planetary defence cannons.

He looked into the atmosphere, following the trajectory of the weapon.

There were dozens of shapes, lancing around in the blue above their heads. “Oh fuck…”

He dropped the door and sprinted back in.

The three sergeants looked at him puzzled.

“IT’S A FUCKING RAID!”

They were on their feet in an instant.

“You two,” he pointed at Vanh and Rosenberg. “Find your squads, get to the armoury, grab weapons ASAP and stand to at the armoury! Whitman, grab Tilki and do the same, go together, move quick. Call me if something happens, until we grab radios.”

They nodded, and began to move.

“What are you going to do, Staff?” That was Whitman, halfway to the bathroom.

“I have to find the Lieutenant. I’ll meet you there. Vanh, you’re acting PSG until I get back."

She nodded. “Good luck, Tan.”

“You too.”

He hesitated for a moment. He'd already drawn the pistol from its holster, but none of the other Marines had a weapon - they had been drinking alcohol when he hadn't. It was Marine Corps policy that off-duty Marines were allowed to carry a sidearm in the outer colonies like Elysium, but only if they did not intend to drink alcohol or consume drugs that would impair judgment and make the operation of a firearm a danger.

He knew what he had to do. He was heading deeper into the city. Raids normally happened quickly on the outskirts as the city was surrounded and isolated. Vanh and Rosie would be in more danger than he was. And, he reckoned, Shepard should have a sidearm when he reached her.

"Vanh, wait."

She stopped midstride, turning quickly. Rosenberg held the door open for them both.

"Take this," he offered.

Vanh tried to protest. "But Staff, I've been drinking, and you'll -"

He held up a hand. "I'll be fine." And he trusted Vanh like she was a sister.

She decided not to argue anymore, not wanting to waste valuable seconds. "Okay. Stay safe, Staff."

Then they were all off, experienced Marine NCOs grimly preparing for the next battle.

Tan spared one more moment to direct the bartender. “Friend, there’s an imminent attack. Do you remember your raid training?”

The turian replied quickly. “Yes, but-”

“Good. Get the people in here safe.”

As Tan ran out of the sports bar, leaving the turian bartender bewildered, he booted up his own omnitool and started dialing his platoon commander.

* * *

“I don’t know about this one, Emilia,” Rita said, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. They were both in civvies - Rita in a flowing blue dress that brought out her eyes, Shepard in a tshirt and shorts - and flip-flops. Being out of uniform felt kinda weird at this point.

Shepard looked over the pavilion a furrow forming between two dark eyebrows. The gardens were vibrant, rolling green, the stone plaza and paths bright marble. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s going to get cold,” Rita pointed out, “We’re getting married in autumn. What if it rains?”

“Okay, so we get an inside venue.”

Rita sighed. “I feel like you’re not taking this seriously.”

Okay, sure, Shepard didn’t really care about the colour of things or which flowers they got. “Rita, what matters to me is that I’m getting to marry you,” She flashed her a bright smile, “I’d marry you at Ricardo’s.”

Naming the dive bar the officers of the _Cairo_ frequented on Minerva Station. It’d been where Shepard had gotten up the courage to ask if she could buy Rita a drink.

Rita rolled her eyes but she was smiling, “That’s not going to happen.”

Shepard leant forward to kiss her - and that was when the whole city seemed to shudder with the rumbling. Shepard’s head snapped up - in time to see the nearest planetary defence cannon, jutting above the apartment buildings nearby, spit out a projectile.

Fire blossomed across the sky as it impacted a descending ship, tearing into the squat, grey vessel’s nose.

“What-?” Rita grabbed her arm, fingers digging into her forearm.

“We’re under attack,” Shepard said flatly. The teasing - all of it melted away into familiar, cool calm.

One of the workers for the wedding venue was nearby. Shepard seized him by the arm as he gaped. “Hey! The colony is under attack. Do you know where the nearest shelters are?’

“I-I, yes.”

“Get everyone here there, now!”

He staggered off into a run.

“We need to get to the _Cairo_ ,” Rita said unsteadily. Rita had a combat action ribbon, but she was a SWO, not a Marine. Her weapon was the cruiser itself. Not the pistol Shepard was wearing or the amp plugged into the back of her neck.

Shepard didn’t think it was likely the _Cairo_ was around to get to, even if shuttles could make it to her. Her omnitool buzzed.

She answered, “Tan. I’m guessing you’ve seen what I’ve seen?”

From the other end, his voice came back strong, but hard to hear amongst ragged breaths and terrible, loud gunfire from above. _“Yeah, we were out drinking, the senior non-coms and me. They’re on their way back to the armoury now! Vanh’s in charge of the platoon until we get there. I’m on my way to you now! I know you’re looking at wedding venues - where?”_

“I’ll send you the address right now. We’ll be inside.” She didn’t want to stay in the open. A quick tap on her omnitool sent the address and she took Rita’s arm and pulled her towards the main building.

That was when two men rounded the corner. A batarian and a turian, both in battered hard suits, rifles in their hands, and fucking ‘capture collars’ on their webbing.

There was a moment where they stared at each other, before the turian raised his rifle, pointing it at Emilia’s chest. “Hands up.”

She’d die first. She dropped Rita’s hand and pulled her pistol out. Her biotics pulsed around her and then she was moving.

 _This is going to hurt without a hard suit,_ she had time to think before she slammed into the nearest pirate, and her biotic field collapsed with a deep, brassy boom. The shock ran through her painfully, rattling her very bones - but she hadn’t broken anything, and the pirates were flung back by the force of her charge.

The turian struggled to his feet first, but Emilia was raising her pistol - thanking God she’d kept it loaded - and pulled the trigger twice. At point blank range it didn’t trigger his shields - blowing the lower half of his face off.

“Bitch!” The batarian shouted and pulled the trigger of his rifle. The shot passed by Shepard’s head with a supersonic crack and then she lashed out with a biotic-wreathed fist and smashed the side of his head in.

He dropped too and Shepard was left standing, panting, above two corpses. Her call to Tan hadn’t disconnected.

“Be aware,” she said as calmly as she could manage, “we have hostiles on the ground.”

Rita was staring at her like she was a stranger, and Shepard was suddenly aware that her band t shirt - one her fiancée had bought her after a date to a concert - was splattered with blue and red blood.

_“I’ll be there in five.”_

* * *

Tan cut the call short. He hadn’t realised they’d managed to land pirates already and really wished at least one of the other NCOs hadn’t decided to have a drink - he wore a personal kinetic barrier, weaker than the military grade ones, but his holster was empty. He felt vulnerable, almost naked, like that.

He passed by a small park and noticing a small stone monument. They were loosely stacked upon one another, and he took a big one from it. He didn’t spare any time to wonder what he had just desecrated, instead opting to focus on the weight in his hand. This would have to do for now.

He checked his omnitool, noticing the message that Emilia had sent to him. It loaded automatically into his maps app. It still worked, luckily, so the satellites hadn’t been destroyed yet. Hopefully, communication could still go out.

He hurried along the streets, staying low. They were mostly empty, though a few dazed civilians wandered about, clearly not sure what to do.

He rounded a corner, then promptly pressed himself into a wall. There were a group of colonists on their knees, and a small group of pirates, a mixture of different species, were collaring them. He swore silently, then started to go back the way he came. He went back, then stopped. He should do something to help.

He peered around the corner.

“HEY, FUCK YOU BLINKS!”

They said something he couldn’t hear, the one with the collars cocked his head, and then two of them were heading, almost lazily towards him. He held the rock in his right hand, and waited patiently.

The footsteps grew louder and the two pirates were unprepared. Clearly, they thought he was a panicked colonist and didn’t expect any resistance. The first one stepped into his view.

Tan sprung, slamming his shoulder into the other man, a turian, and knocking him off balance. He swatted at the rifle, then brought his knee up in to the turian’s side.

The batarian was just a couple of steps behind. He began to raise his rifle, bringing it to bear on Tan. He acted quickly, leaping forward, though from down low, so that he could smash the rock into the batarian’s chin. He fell down, the rifle clattering uselessly beside him. Tan delivered a swift kick to the batarian’s head.

He wheeled back on the turian, who had started to recover. Tan quickly grabbed his empty hand and pulled him in, flipping him so that his back was facing the group of slavers. The four of them left began to shoot at him, moving quickly forward to get in cover.

Tan yelled “RUN!” to the colonists who still hadn’t been collared, and they obliged, spreading out.

The batarian, who was commanding the small group yelled, frustrated, but let them leave. The turian’s KB was absorbing the rounds and, after a few seconds,Tan was able to pull him back behind the corner, safely into cover. It didn’t take much to disarm the turian, and squeeze the rifle tightly against his chest, and then let one solitary round off. It tore through the ceramic plate, leaving a hole bigger than his own fist. The turian died in a moment, a look of shock and bemused fear on his face.

Then Tan sprinted away. He vaulted a low wall, into a small outdoor courtyard of a nearby cafe. From inside, he could see the slavers run towards the corner he had just been at. He waited a few seconds, letting them round it, before he made his own break.

They were well and truly gone, probably assuming he had sprinted down the road. He continued on his way.

A few minutes later, he had his stolen rifle and was entering the grounds that Emilia, just ten minutes earlier, had been sharing a cheeky kiss with her fiance in.

Shepard had ushered Rita into the main building of the wedding venue, pilfering one of the pirates’ rifles and stuffing as many heat sinks as they had on them into her pockets.

Then she’d passed Rita her sidearm.

“Remember your combat training?” she asked, tone as reassuring as she could make it.

Rita gave her a ghost of a smile, sweat beading on her forehead. “Point the right end at the enemy.”

“Something like that.”

She noticed Tan making a break across the grounds and burst out the door towards him, “Tan! Over here!” She stopped for a moment at the sight of him, grinning, “Nice shirt.” Then the mirth faded. “We need to get to the armoury. Any idea on what’s happening with the _Cairo_ or the garrison?”

Tan shook his head, breathing deeply through his nose and out through his mouth. "Negative," he said. "I've ordered the squad leaders to stand their squads to at the armoury. Vanh's in charge until we get there. The planetary defence cannons are still operational - or they were, anyway. I don't have a radio."

He smiled at her comment, though it was thin. The usually stoic, implacable man did not have the strange irony of this situation lost on him. "Thank you, ma'am. I like your flip-flops." He pointed down, then looked to Rita. "Very nice to meet you, too, ma'am, though the circumstances could be better. You'll have a beautiful wedding, I'm sure."

And then he was all business again. "I have my personal KB on me, and this rifle I took off a corpse." He pointed it at an angle, flicking his thumb over one of the buttons near the trigger guard and then accidentally fired a short burst into the ground. He stared at it for a moment, and the three neat holes in front of him.

Evenly, he said, "Let's pretend I didn't just ND. Did you secure the civilians?"

“Your secret is safe with me,” Shepard said dryly, “same for my gear. Hopefully the militia armoury has some proper gear. Or at least vests. We should get moving. If this is a full scale attack on Elysium…”

Her brown eyes were grim when she looked at Tan, knowing he would pick up what she was getting at. If the pirates planned to crack Elysium, they’d need real military equipment to break the garrison. Stuff a pilfered rifle would be as helpful against as throwing a rock at.

Tan was equally as grim. "Aye aye," was all he said in response. "Follow me, I'll take point. Grab the rear, Lieutenant. There are already slaver patrols in the streets, I came across a band on the way over here." He set off quickly, rifle at the ready, and started heading back the way he'd come.

"We have no idea what state the defences are going to be in." He looked up. The space battle - if it could even be called that - was still in full swing, though there were even more ships in the sky above now. If this was any indication, their defences wouldn't last too long.

Emilia nodded in agreement, falling back to their six. Her hands were sweaty on her stolen rifle, her flip flops slapping ridiculously against the concrete beneath their feet. They took the backroads, keeping out of sight and avoiding pirate patrols. Rita had gone quiet - and Shepard wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

The Colonial Guards armoury wasn’t too far - an easy fifteen minute walk in normal circumstances, but it was taking them close to forty. She could only hope the majority of her platoon would be waiting for them.

They were around the corner when the whole world appeared to shake, a roar echoing across the city that seemed to go on and on.

“What was that?” Rita gasped.

Shepard’s eyes were drawn to thick, dark plume of smoke billowing over the city. “A bomb, or artillery. And that’s...fuck. That’s the army base.”

"Fuck," Tan swore along with her. He did some mental calculations, based on what he could see. "It's probably short-range," he said. "They're prepared."

Grimly, he shifted his grip on the rifle. "We need to move quick. Emilia," he cocked his head back to look at her, very seriously. He had never used her first name before in a situation like this.

"We might be in for the fight of our lives." He left something unsaid. It might be them, alone, in for the fight of their lives - and Emilia Shepard might be the boss of it all.

Shepard swallowed. They were trapped in a city under siege and if the base was in that much trouble they wouldn’t be seeing a counter attack any time soon. “Fuck. Alright, let’s double-time it.”


	2. First Blood

The armoury was a facility of the Elysium Colonial Guard - a militia with a fancy name, armed with Alliance Army and Marine Corps surplus and obsolete equipment. The tiny base was a handful of buildings, surrounded by a two metre wall topped with wire and overseen by four guard towers.

The gate was protected by a machine gun nest - a machine gun that was quickly aimed in their direction as they burst towards the gate, a twitchy looking private with a vest and helmet instead of a proper hard suit.

“Easy!” Shepard raised her hands as she stepped forward. “Lieutenant Shepard, Alliance Marines!”

The machine gun barrel lowered. Something like relief crossed the private’s face. “Good to see you, ma’am. Please come in.”

"We need some kit." Tan hurried inside the wire with Rita and Shepard on his heels, heading past hastily dug fighting positions, where a motley collection of militia soldiers were currently stood to. One of the buildings, a low, grey-painted prefab, had a sign out the front announcing it was the CDF headquarters. 

He entered the building the door already opened, and found Rosie and Vanh had set up a makeshift platoon headquarters in the militia’s offices. They stood at a table, looking at a holoprojector, expressions grim.

"We're back," he called to them, before heading straight through. He grabbed a tactical command visor and slipped it on his face, letting it boot up and connnect to his omnitool interface. He retrieved a worn looking ballistic vest and pulled that over his holiday Hawaiian shirt, and grabbed one for Emilia.

He handed that, and a helmet, to his platoon commander. "Still some rifles in there," he said to her. “Righto, Vanh. What's the situation? Have you heard from the Cairo or FLEETCOM?"”

Shepard pulled the vest on over her bloodied tshirt and tightened it around, as Vanh spoke up.

“We’re still waiting for Whitman, but we’ve been in contact with him. I’ve found us enough rifles for the platoon thus far, as well as light machine-guns. As for the ship or command - I haven’t heard from either of them.”

It was Rita who spoke then, her face pale but her voice unwavering. Her arms were wrapped around her torso. Shepard wanted so badly to hold her - but right now she needed to be the platoon commander, not Rita’s fiancée, “The Cairo has either fled or she’s been destroyed. No one cruiser could fight a fleet that size, and most of the Elysian fleet is gone right now.”

“I...yes, ma’am,” the sergeant said. 

“Is there a militia commander on site?” Shepard asked. A lot of the militia captains and above were former Alliance Marines or soldiers who’d taken their land allowances and gone part time. If there was an experienced militia captain, she could talk to them, get an idea of what they needed to do.

Vanh shook her head. “None of the militia officers have made it here thus far, sir. The woman in charge is a Master Sergeant Jiang. The company operations NCO.”

“So…”

“You’re the highest ranked person here, ma’am,” the sergeant said calmly. The armoury shook as another explosion went off somewhere nearby.

“Technically, she is,” Emilia muttered, jerking a thumb at her fiancée. 

“A Sub-Lieutenant I might be, but this isn’t a ship,” Rita said quietly.

“Right.”

Tan's mouth was set in a hard line. 

"We have our squads," Rosenberg offered. "We have defensive positions established around the armoury. But we have outdated equipment and no hardsuits."

The platoon sergeant scratched at his head. "This isn't ideal," he said, not allowing the bleakness to bleed into his voice.

"It's not."

"We need to identify the key strategic positions in this sector. On our way over here, we saw that the Army base had already been bombed, but I don't think it was orbital. Likely, they're using short range terrestrial and self-propelled artillery, which means this is at least somewhat a professional force, probably sponsored. We saw slavers, but be prepared for soldiers too." Better to be prepared and be wrong than to not.

“I think we need to prepare for the possibility of Hegemony External Forces,” Shepard said, “an attack this big has the blinks written all over it.”

“I agree, ma’am. There’s two points of strategic importance I can see on the map,” Vanh brought it up on the holo projector. 

“One second,” Emilia interrupted, walking to the door and sticking her head out. Private Kellog was standing around, clutching a Mattock. She was half sure Vanh had put him to guarding the platoon headquarters to keep him out of the way. “Kellog!”

His head jerked up, “Ma’am?”

“I need you to go find me Master Sergeant Jiang and bring her here.”

He scratched his face, “Sergeant Vanh told me to guard this here buildin’, ma’am.”

“And,” Shepard said very patiently, “I’m giving you a new order. Get fucking moving.”

She waited to make sure he was doing as she told and then ducked back in. “Alright, hit me, Vanh.”

“There’s two real avenues of approach to the armoury, ma’am, if you’re trying to move a mechanised force. One is the main road past the nearby planetary defence battery, the other is over the Grissom Memorial Bridge.”

While plenty of civilian vehicles were sky cars, most military vehicles remained as ground or hover vehicles due to the weight of their armour and weapons. That meant they’d still need the roads to move through Illyria.

“Status of the battery?”

“Unknown, ma’am.”

"You haven't happened to pick up any comms, have you?" Tan asked. "The slavers might not be using an encrypted circuit."

Rosis looked up. "No Staff. Only contact we've had has been with Whitman and Tilki. They'll be here soon. They got cut off and had to double back, but we made it clear to not engage and get straight here."

Tan nodded at that then turned to Emilia. "Ma'am, I think we should try and establish a line of communication with the defense battery. If we can support them, they can halt the deployment of infantry and vehicles from dropships, and we should have a better vantage point to determine whether we're going to be attacked from up the road or across the bridge."

“I agree.”

“I’ll put Solar on it, LT,” Vanh offered.

The door opened and in stepped the person Shepard assumed was the militia’s highest ranking sergeant.

“Ma’am, Master Sergeant Jiang reporting.” Jiang was short and wiry, with black hair tied into a neat bun beneath her helmet. 

“Master Sergeant, I’m Lieutenant Shepard, this is Sub-Lieutenant Rita McCormick and this is my platoon sergeant, Staff Sergeant Tan,,” Shepard reached out to shake her hand. “What’s the situation with your company?”

“We’re at 65% of our on-paper strength, ma’am,” Jiang said, brown eyes looking each of the Marines over in turn, “Most of the soldiers here were those who live close to the armoury.” The Master Sergeant paused for a moment, before she admitted, “Some of the NCOs, including myself, are former Alliance. Hell, we’ve got a handful of turians and asari who served in their militaries. But the rest are pretty much students at the University of Illyria. Frankly, I’m not sure how we’ll stand up in combat.”

“Thank you for your honesty,” Shepard replied, crossing her arms. She’d have to use her Marine platoon to take the brunt of any fighting then. “If you can put your best soldiers on the perimeter and have the rest running ammo and the like?”

Jiang nodded.

"Do you have any heavier weapons? Launchers or mortars?"

“We’ve got two 81mm smart mortars and crews for them,” Jiang replied, nodding to her fellow NCO, “and we’ve got a fair few ML-77 rocket launchers. Not as good as the Cobra IMAW you lot will be used to, but should be enough to destroy anything other than MBT. I’ll have them passed out to your anti-tank Marines.”

“Thanks.”

"We appreciate it, Master Sergeant," Tan added, forcing a smile. He wasn't happy about it, but it was better than nothing. He doubted that there would be MBTs - slavers tended to like using quick, lightly armoured vehicles, to move fast, overpower defences, grab people, and get out.

But this felt different. This felt like an assault. He hoped that they wouldn't have to use a launcher and the rest of the fleet would get there in time.

Whitman and Tilki suddenly appeared then in the doorway, breathing heavily and faces gleaming with sweat.

"Fuck," Whitman said, leaning forward and putting his hands on his knees. "Ma'am," he added in between gulps of air. Neither of them carried a weapon or wore armour.

"There's a fuckload of slavers. We were only a few minutes behind Rosie and Vanh, but we got cut off in the streets. It looks like they're collaring everyone they can find and-and…"

He looked nervous, grim. "I think they're finishing up in downtown. We had to go around, but they might be starting to load people up!"

Shepard’s jaw clenched and then she forced herself to breathe out. 

“There’s some civilians fleeing past us from the slavers,” Jiang said, her expression grim. These were her friends and neighbours, “Requesting that we offer shelter to as many as we can. Who knows what’s going on in the rest of the city?”

Shepard nodded, “Anyone who can help, put them to work. I’m guessing we’ll especially need medical staff. Tilki, set up a casualty collection point with the militia medics. Whitman, get yourself and your guys armoured up.”

"Yes ma'am!" The NCOs jumped to the task. Whitman set about pilfering the armoury of vests, helmets, rifles, and radios. Tan also grabbed a rifle from the sergeant, opting to leave his stolen alien rifle on a bench, once he had found the safety.

"We're going to have to dig in," he said grimly. He had noticed the gunpits and makeshift defences that had already been established, but this base - if it could even be called that - was not ever designed to withstand an assault. It would barely be able to stop a trespasser.

"Do we have any way of getting intel on the city? Access to satellites from here, if they haven't already been destroyed?” 

“At the moment we can’t even get in contact with the garrison,” Vanh grimaced, “hate to say it, but I think we’re on our own for now.”

“Ma’am!” Solar dashed over, his omnitool glowing. Eight months ago the young Lance Corporal had been in the vehicle with Shepard and Lance Corporal Lakatos when they’d hit an IED. Lakatos had died in the ensuing firefight while Solar had lost part of a leg and spent a great deal of time in hospital, but thanks to modern medical miracles, he’d rejoined the platoon two months ago. “I got in contact with the battery - they’re under heavy attack and taking casualties! There’s enemies in the wire, they need back up right now or they’ll lose the guns!”

“If we lose the guns they can bomb this part of Illyria with impunity,” Vanh observed.

“Worse,” Rita spoke up, “they’ll turn the guns on our reinforcements once the fleet arrives.”

Tan considered for a moment. "Master Sergeant, get your mortar teams organised. We'll direct your fire onto the enemy."

He looked to his Lieutenant. In truth, he was glad it was her. He'd had a platoon commander before her, his first in his platoon sergeant billet. He had seemed okay to Tan, but the young man had been wounded and pretty quickly replaced with a fresh new mustang in the form of Emilia Shepard. She soon proved much more capable than the one before.

She had good instincts and a natural leadership ability. Tan had a long career behind him - he had known good officers who would have killed to have started their careers as skilled as Emilia had. Tan had to wonder if it was because of her military family background. She was destined for great things.

If she lived that long.

Tan forced himself back to the present. "Lieutenant Shepard," he began, licking dry lips. The adrenaline would kick in soon. "May I take two squads to the battery and help the defenders fight the attackers off by directing mortar fire onto them?"

Shepard hesitated and then shook her head, “This is no time for half measures. If the enemy is already in the wire, they may get overrun before we get there. We’ll counterattack with the entire platoon and then hold the battery. Once we’ve secured the PDB, I want you to take a squad and blow the bridge. That should mean they can’t get around us to the armoury. Might still get some stragglers, but they should be able to handle it.”

And quite frankly, as cold as it sounded even in her head, holding the battery was more important than the militia armoury.

“We’ll have the mortars ready to go,” Jiang promised, “and I’ll have ammo parties stood to.”

"Yes ma'am." Tan took that as a signal to begin carrying out Shepard's orders. He cocked his head at the two squad sergeants and grabbed his new rifle. He stuck a few heat sinks in the small pouches on the front of his webbing, stopping only one moment longer to secure a sidearm which slid into the holster he wore, and then stepped outside of the small building.

"TWO PLATOON," he boomed, ever the platoon sergeant. Whitman seemed to know what was about to happen and joined Vanh and Rosie in getting their squads ready to move.

"FORM UP ON YOUR SQUAD LEADERS! BE READY TO MOVE, WEDGE FORMATION!" He looked to his NCOs.

Whitman, who hadn't been inside to hear the orders, mimed a signal with his hand. He made a mouth with fingers and thumb and opened and closed it twice to represent speaking.

Tan understood the question. Ogroup? He shook his head. There wasn't time for formal orders to be given. This was a counter attack.

After a half minute, watching the Marines scramble into a cohesive fighting force, he turned back to Shepard.

"We're ready, Ma'am." As ready as they could be. 

“Very good, Staff Sergeant.”

“Good luck,” Master Sergeant Jiang told her, “Sub-Lieutenant McCormick - if you could help me with the civilians, ma’am?”

Rita opened her mouth and then closed it, nodding reluctantly. “Be careful, Emilia.”

“I love you,” Shepard murmured quickly and then stepped past her, “Vanh, you have point. All squad leaders, make sure you’re dialled into the fire support net. We have to get to this battery - and quickly. Our brothers and sisters in the Army are counting on us, and so are the people of Illyria. Don’t get bogged down. Oorah?”

The chorus from the platoon rang out. "Oorah!"

Tan nodded approvingly. "Let's move!"

The platoon was off and the Marines became professionals instantly. Rifles were at the ready and heads were scanning firing arcs. 

Tan was standing right beside Shepard, somewhere in the middle of all this. He knew her well enough by now that there was no danger of panic or nerves bubbling up in her, nor in him. So, he didn't say anything. Instead, he focused his attention to the limited HUD on the tactical visor.

Without the usual hardsuit and integrated systems, the information assaulting his eyes was limited, but it would have to do. They had never been this ill-prepared to fight off a force this big.

They moved as quickly as they could while still maintaining situational awareness. Shepard could see the PDB rising above the suburbs - a trio of guns jutting out of their towers. Currently dead silent. 

That was when Corporal Richards shouted, her voice cracking with alarm, “Shit! Contact!”

An armoured car rolled across the cross-road, heavy machine gun turning in the direction of FIrst Squad and opening fire. The air was thick with the whistling of rounds.

No, no, no - 

Shepard reacted, throwing up a barrier in front of her Marines. Each impact felt like she could feel it in her very bones and after a moment she fell to one knee, head spinning and barrier fluttering and fading. But it’d given First Squad time to scramble back into cover.

Tan had hit the ground, flat on his stomach - but seeing his lieutenant struggling to stand, he pushed himself to his knees and grabbed her by the back of her vest, dragging her behind a short brick wall. She hissed as her elbow caught on the edge of a brick.

“PFC Shou!” He roared into his comm, struggling to hear himself over the gunfire. “Get your launcher up and waste this fuckin’ thing!” From his position in the dirt, he scanned for the other squad leaders. “Rosie, are you able to push up past the car?”

“I’ll try!” He saw Third Squad stand up after a moment and make a mad dash, before the movement caused the turret to swivel towards them, giving First Squad an opening.

The platoon raked the car with fire, as Shou stood and braced his rocket launcher. He fired, the rocket slashing through the air and smashing into the car’s side. It exploded with a roar and the sound of munitions cooking off.

One of the blink passengers managed to make it out of the car - but he ran right into First Squad. Lance Corporal Anker cut him down unceremoniously in a scythe of machinegun fire.

Shepard struggled to her feet, “Score one for the Alliance Marines! Keep it moving!”

Tan spared no time, getting up and heading over to Rosie.

“Thanks, Sergeant. Any casualties?”

“No Staff. Somehow.” Then the two of them were heading forward, Rosenberg’s squad following closely.

The gunfire was heavy here, now, hanging almost like a mist over the whole area. They were coming up to the rear of the battery. A few batarians in black hardsuits were standing by the damaged perimeter wall.

Tan’s rifle was already in his shoulder. He squeezed off two bursts, eliminating the first pirate instantly. The second one was dispatched in a similar manner by Rosenberg. The third tried to run back to the front.

“Push around, we’re going to try and throw this attack off!”

Shepard caught the last batarian with a biotic field, tugging him into the air. Three Marines opened fire, riddling him with bullets. 

The perimeter fence of the battery had been breached with explosives. Shepard leapt over rubble, raising her rifle. A cluster of armoured batarian were at the doors of the battery control room, looking like they were trying to break in. 

Shepard snapped off a few shots, “Push, push, push!”

The batarians were beginning to respond even as her target staggered and fell, scattering into cover and returning fire.

The squads all moved to follow their Lieutenant, bringing weapons up to shoot down at the batarians. Tan leaped forward, diving towards cover almost drunkenly. The attention was taken from him soon as Marines from the squad behind him joined.

He moved quickly, without even thinking and ended up moving into the open, trying to flank the batarians. He dove forward, eating dirt, and firing wildly, at full auto.

Whitman could see what was happened, shouted “JESUS CHRIST!” and ordered his grenadier to put a grenade just to the left of where Tan was. The bullets killed the first batarian. Two were thrown up and flipped over, rifles clattering away uselessly. Again, the rest of them tried to run and regroup.

Tan shot down at them, quickly killing the last two that had been left, and then returning to where the platoon was entering through.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he said cooly to Shepard, then he continued to barking orders, trying to establish a defensive line further up, to hold the front of the battery, where those batarians had no doubt made it through.

Shepard opened her mouth and then closed it. She dashed forward, following Vanh and First Squad.

“Hearing some gunfire,” Corporal Olmo called in the moment before his shield shattered and he went down, “Fuck, I’m hit!”

“Covering fire!” Vanh called - and then she jerked and fell down Shepard ducked instinctively. Her sergeant was a crumpled doll, her face turned into something unrecognisable by a bullet. 

Alive one moment, dead the next. 

“Sniper!” Shepard called, tearing her eyes away from what was left of Vanh’s face, “Olmo, stay still.”

“Fuck! Shit, okay.”

“Anyone see where that’s coming from?” She demanded. 

There was another crack, making itself known above the din, and dust spat up just a few feet in front of the defending Marines.

“I've got it!" That was Whitman, who had somehow, imperceptibly, noticed the muzzle flash out amongst the stately trees of the nearby park. "By the treeline! 1 o'clock… Maybe 350 metres!"

Tan let his eyes go where Whitman directed. “Anker, get your gun to bear on that position, suppress the fuck out of it!”

Anker stood up, followed closely by Hanson who carried a rifle, a spare barrel, and a heaping of heatsinks.

“I’m on it St-!” Anker suddenly fell forward, a stray barrage sweeping him, taking his shield and slamming his leg out from under him. “I’m hit!”

Hanson swore, leaped beside Anker’s prone figure and was suddenly covered in blood as Anker’s face exploded. He was too shocked to do much.

“Hanson, move into cover!”

The Lance Corporal didn’t need any more bidding. He pushed Anker off of the machinegun he was clutching under his now lifeless body and crawled crazily forward. He was safe, for the moment.

“We lost Anker,” Tan said to Shepard.

She could hear Hanson gasping as he back tears, but the gun started tearing out its awful droning cry as the wood and leaves splintered in the distance.

Tan was suddenly beside Shepard again, eyes down on Olmo. “Lieutenant, I can help here. Call that in, 20 degrees, range… 350 metres, danger close.” 

The militia crew responded with the confirmation and a few seconds later they heard the familiar whistle of an incoming shell. The sniper position erupted into a gout of fire and thrown up dirt, close enough they could hear the distant whistle of shrapnel flying through the air.

Silence fell.

“Fuck!” Richards shouted, standing over her dead sergeant, hands raised to her head. Olmo was on the ground, whimpering, his leg shattered by the sniper round. 

“Leave them for the casualty collection team,” Shepard said numbly, “we need to secure the battery.”

“But-“ Hanson began, his eyes still red.

“Trust Tilki to do his job and do yours,” Shepard snapped. 

Losing a Marine was always hard, but it could be a bloody job sometimes. Tan could compartmentalise. He’d learned that at least in his career. He did so now.

Avoiding all conversation of his dead comrades, he said, “We need to get inside the PDB. Rosie, Whitman, Richards, stand your squads to and get ready for another wave. Rostami, pull Olmo into cover and take over first aid. Solar, you’re with us.”

He placed a hand on Emilia’s shoulder. Very quietly, as privately as he could, he said, “Are you ready, ma’am? We need to get this battery back online - though, once we do, they’ll know we’ve got a position here. We might get incoming artillery.”

Shepard’s jaw clenched and she nodded. “Let’s do this.”

They stacked up and when Shepard gave the word, they pushed in. A few batarians were hurrying towards them when the Marines surprised them. Shepard swept them off their feet with a flung biotic shockwave and they were quickly dispatched by shots to the head. 

The Marines weren’t in a merciful mood. Shepard was distantly glad - she didn’t know they had the manpower to deal with prisoners right now. 

The gunfire stopped, leaving only the soft groans of the two wounded Marines as Tilki and his casualty collection party - two young soldiers from the militia he’d shanghaied - moved them into cover. 

Shepard stepped forward, trusting her Marines to watch her back, and examined the explosives that had attached to the hardened door into the battery fire direction centre. Each gun could be operated independently, but the FDC could coordinate all three guns and use them to best effect, and she’d guess that the survivors of the battery would have taken shelter there. 

Here and there she could see the still forms of Alliance Army soldiers - either battery personnel or the MPs assigned to protect it. 

“Solar, can you disarm these?”

“I think so, ma’am.” The engineer stepped forward and got to work.

Shepard turned to Tan, “Casrep?” 

She’d seen some of the casualties but she needed to know the full extent of whatever losses the platoon had taken, wounded or dead. 

"On it, ma'am." Tan turned to where he had come from. He stuck his head out the door. Tilki was carefully inspecting the leg of Olmo. "Casrep, Altan?"

The corpsman didn't look up. "Two KIA, Sergeant Vanh, Lance Corporal Anker, both First Squad. Two more WIA, young Corporal Olmo here - and no, he's not ambulant - and Lance Corporal van der Bilt, from Third Squad. Gunshot to the arm, but it's small. KB must have broken most of the projectile."

Tan swore. "Fuck."

With a weak but brave grin, Olmo said, "Sorry, Staff." 

"Don't worry about it. You did good, Corporal. Tilki will try to get you back to the armoury."

Olmo nodded. 

"Keep me updated, Corpsman." As Tilki nodded silently, Tan looked over to the now acting squad leader, Corporal Richards, who seemed to have her rifle in a death grip. Tan crouched down low, and came up beside her. He didn't look at her face, but kept his eyes outward, where the attack had just been repelled.

"How are you doing, Corporal?"orporal?”

“I...fuck, I don’t know, Staff.” Richards scrubbed at her face, shoulders hunched. Richards was the most senior of First Squad’s corporals, destined for sergeant’s stripes. But she was still a twenty-three old woman who’d just lost two friends, one of them her mentor, and now found herself in charge of the survivors. “Vanh - fuck.”

"I know," came his reply, uncharacteristically gentle. "But you're a capable Marine. There was a reason that the Lieutenant and I thought you would be best to take over the squad. And we're not above bloodlust, or the want for revenge. We're human. And we can allow that. But you can't lose your edge, or lose focus. I need Corporal Richards, with all the fire and passion I've seen in her, to remain on the task. Once this is over, I promise, we'll go and pour one out for Vanh and Anker. Oorah?"

Richards lifted her head and nodded, “Oorah, Staff. I won’t let you or the LT down.”

"I know you won't. If you need anything, Rosie will help. I trust him." That was authoritative. All of the Marines in the platoon trusted Tan, that was the job of a good platoon sergeant. Even if he wasn't liked, he needed to be trusted and ready to hear from his Marines. "Or me. Hail me on the radio, and I'll do what I can. You'll do well, Corporal." He turned to look at her now, and gave her a smile. "We're counting on you. Anyway, I have to get back to it."

He was up then, quickly. He gave Tilki a quick look, but didn't think the corpsman needed any help, and continued back inside.

Solar was on a knee in front of the door, but Tan approached Shepard. "Casrep as requested, ma'am. Vanh and Anker are KIA. Their bodies are covered, for now, but Tilki is treating wounded here. We have two WIA, Lance Corporal van der Bilt, and Corporal Olmo. Third Squad is down a marksman, First is down a fire team leader, machine gunner… And Vahn."

It seemed… somewhat surreal. But then, Tan thought, it always did. Just a few hours ago, she had teased him, saying he looked like every Asian uncle in a hot climate.

But that was in the past. He couldn't think about that now. "Richards is up to the task, ma'am. I'm confident in her abilities - but I will have Sergeant Rosenberg keep an eye on her."

Shepard swallowed down the thick knot of grief. First Squad would have crying Marines right now, she knew it, but she couldn’t be one of them. They needed to see that both she and Tan were in control.

Even if she didn’t know if she could extricate them from this alive. Especially if she didn’t know that.

She nodded, “Solar is finishing up with defusing the explosives - these aren’t mining charged or anything civilian. I’d say the guys we just fought were External Forces.”

The External Forces were the batarian’s answer to ‘foreign internal defence’. They cropped up causing trouble in the contested Verge, known by their uniform equipment and better training than most of the rabble the Marines fought. But all the complaints to the Council hadn’t stopped it. 

"I thought they would show up. They must be coordinating the attack." Which meant, more likely than not, the EF would be directing the slavers on to the targets of actual importance.

Tan hesitated, not sure if he wanted Solar to hear his next thought. He stepped in, dropping his voice somewhat. "I think there's a fair chance they've somehow gathered better intelligence than normal. Think about it - attacking when most of the fleet, bar the Cairo, is away. Overwhelming Army defensive positions and swarming the PDB. We know this was well planned. But it seems… Too well planned."

“I agree,” Shepard said grimly. “We can only hope they didn’t account for us, but this is going to get ugly, Tan.”

“Door’s done, ma’am,” Solar reported, stepping back, “Still sealed though.”

“Time to knock,” Shepard smiled thinly. She stepped forward and hammered a hand against the metal door, “This is Lieutenant Shepard, Alliance Marines! We’ve secured the battery, open up!”

After a long two minutes the door flickered to green and rolled open. A grimy, bloodied man in Army fatigues - no armour and only a pistol - stood there, a Sergeant First Class’ chevrons on his shoulders. “Bloody hell am I glad to see you, ma’am. We thought - fuck me, we thought the whole city was fuckin’ occupied.”

"Good to see you too, Sergeant. Had we taken another five minutes, and blinks might have been on both sides of the door." Tan's face was implacable. He stepped through the door. "The problem is, well, the whole city might well and truly be occupied. We're the only Marine Corps element on the ground, and our ship has left orbit. We need this gun back online, First Sergeant, so we can beat the invasion back long enough for the fleet to get here. Why did it fall silent? Who's the OIC of the battery?"

The Sergeant First Class, whose nametape read McAdams, wiped his grimy hand on his equally dirty uniform jacket, “When they attacked they killed most of the MPs and wounded our battery commander. The guns - they’re hard cabled into the FDC to avoid jamming, but these bastards knew where to cut the cables. Now you’ve cleared them out, I can put skeleton crews on each individual gun to get them firing, but it’ll probably take us an hour or two to get the cables repaired.”

“Do it,” Emilia decided, “we need the guns up now. Send your wounded to our corpsman, he’s set up by your motor pool. We’ll defend the battery.”

“We getting reinforcements soon, ma’am?” He asked, “no offence but you folks don’t look set up for a sustained engagement.”

Tan looked down at the royal blue flowers and white shorts that poked out from under his old vest. "Trust me, Sergeant," he said, his expression not changing whatsoever. "After a tour in some shithole swamp in the Traverse? This is a vacation for us."

He looked to his Lieutenant. "I'll inform the squad leaders, Ma'am. As soon as this thing starts up again, they'll hit us harder and faster than they did before." 

“Agreed,” Shepard nodded, “but first - we need to blow that bridge. I was thinking Rosie and his squad, plus Solar.”

"Yes ma'am." Tan was quickly on his radio. "Lancer White Three, this is Five, message, over."

Through the crackle, Rosenberg's voice was back on the line in response quickly, but with a tinge of annoyance. "Five, this is Three, go ahead, over."

"Five, Actual has a tasking for Lancer White Three. Have Three grab munitions and be ready to oscar mike in five mikes. How copy, over?"

There was a bit of a pause, but Rosie did come back. "Solid copy, Five, wilco. Out."

Tan tapped Solar on the shoulder. "Grab those disarmed charges, Marine. We have a job to do."

“Aye aye Staff Sergeant!” Solar shoved the disarmed charges into his webbing. The Marine fell in beside the platoon sergeant quickly, his young face determined. Solar had never been quite as cheerful as he had been before Lakatos had died.

“Good luck,” Shepard told them, squeezing the engineer’s shoulder briefly, and then watched as her platoon sergeant and engineer jogged over towards where Third Squad was getting ready to roll out. 


	3. The Bridge

Tan didn't waste any time. He grabbed a few grenades from one of the nearby soldiers, took a quick drink of water - there was no room on the ballistic vest for his canteens, unlike his hardsuit's webbing - and then relayed the situation with the army repairing the gun to Richards and Whitman, before he went to grab Rosie's squad. 

"Sergeant, are you all prepared?" 

"Yes Staff," was his swift reply.

"Good. Here's the orders. Gather your squad." 

It took less than thirty seconds, and the twelve Marines, with van der Bilt noticeably absent, stood in a half circle in front of Tan. 'We're going to blow the bridge. Right now, Army techs are fixing the PDB - blinks cut the wires. They think it'll take between an hour and two hours to fix. That means, we have to be back here before then. I hope you all had something to drink and took a leak. We have no idea what kind of contact we're going to face."

It was a haphazard o-group, not at all following the pro forma set out in the Marine Corps NCO manual.

"Questions, queries, doubts?" 

No one put up a hand.

"Alright. Let's head out. Alpha team, take point, we're moving in diamonds. Achebe, you hang back with Rosenberg and me, everyone understand?"

Achebe was the platoon biotic. Most platoon commanders weren't biotics, like Shepard was, but after fighting alongside her, Tan could see what biotics were capable of. He didn't doubt Achebe or Shepard's abilities.

The squad started off, going back out through the wire they had cleared, moving at a very brisk pace. They were silent, like they normally were on dismounted patrols. It made Tan feel comfortable, almost like he could forget all the slaving that had happened in front of his eyes. Almost as if he wasn't even wearing armour but some stupid fucking floral shirt, fighting an invasion force in shorts, on the crown jewel colony of the Alliance. Almost as if millions of lives weren't riding on less than fifty people - on his shoulders. On Shepard’s.

The atmosphere amongst the Marines was grim, hard and determined. They’d already taken more KIAs in retaking the battery than they had their entire tour of the Traverse. 

They wanted payback. The blood lust simmered with every step they took.

Corporal Julian Bastillo raised a hand as they reached the street nearby the bridge, hand signaling that there were contacts ahead. The Spanish corporal took a few moments to survey the bridge, his team around him barely even breathing as they waited in cover, and then he carefully scrambled his way back to his squad and platoon sergeants.

“One IFV on the bridge,” he reported in a low voice, “squad strength infantry - they’re not dug in though, S’arnt. Not EF I don’t think - hell, they look like they think they’ve beaten us already.”

His voice burned with hot anger. 

Tan could feel a similar anger, somewhere in the pit of his stomach, though he didn't let it bubble up into his voice. The Staff Sergeant turned to Sergeant Rosenberg.

"What do you think, Sergeant?"

Rosenberg thought for a moment. "We should have no issue destroying the IFV. I'm concerned with runaways, if we scare the squad off. Maybe I can take a diamond around down that side, and -"

Tan cut him off. "I don't want to waste the time - or risk your lives like that. I think we should put two of the MG's, with the AT, over there-" he pointed at the edge of the street, to the right of the bridge. "We'll alternate AT until the vehicle is destroyed, and have both machine gunners open up. Then the rest of the squad can bound up the bridge. We'll call fire support onto that side of the bridge, so anyone who tries to run away and get help can be caught in mortar fire."

Rosenberg hesitated, but didn't question Tan. "Okay, Staff."

"Corporal, organise the AT and machinegunners, will you? Rosie, calculate the mortar support now so you can get on the radio and start sending shells as soon as we attack."

“Aye aye!” The Corporal said and bounded forward again - albeit this time grabbing Lance Corporal Johansen, Bravo Team’s machinegunner and the Marines with rocket launchers. Charlie’s machinegunner would join the rest of the squad in the assault element. He set up the machinegunners with quick gestures and low words so their fields of fire overlapped - and would hopefully catch as many of the enemy dismounts as possible. The anti-tank gunners also spread out and set up their shots. 

There was something surreal about using someone’s suburban front yard as a MG emplacement. 

“Set,” Bastillo whispered into his radio. 

"Roger." Tan took a deep breath in and killed his radio. "Rosenberg," he said, to the sergeant next to him, oddly sentimental. He'd done this dozens of times, setting up killzones, giving orders on how to cause the most amount of casualties, to win. He'd never become wistful right before combat - but this hit close to home. Even he, the most grizzled Marine in the platoon, was struggling to reconcile the events. They were supposed to be safe here. They were supposed to be the protectors of this place, and all others like it. But first it had been civilians in the street that they couldn't rescue, many of whom would be subject to a life of misery, never to return to their homes. Gone.

Then, it had been Vanh. A good Marine, a good leader. A good, trusted friend. Who would be next? Achebe, next to him? Rosenberg, who he hadn't always gotten along with, but whom he respected and trusted? Shepard, the fearsome butterbar who he had helped forge into an even more fearsome officer? Could it be him?

Tan forced that door to close in his mind. Compartmentalise. He had to. He couldn't get bogged in this emotion or despair. He'd had brothers who had never returned once they walked that path. 

Tan took another deep breath to steady himself. "I'm proud of you. And your squad. Fine Marines all."

He didn't give Rosenberg a chance to respond. Instead, in the few stunned seconds of silence his uncharacteristic behaviour had elicited, he flicked his radio back on and in a steady, smooth voice, as cool as ice, he said, "Lancer White Three, fire, fire, fire."

The first rocket was fired with the familiar _whoosh,_ missing by barely a metre and slamming into the bridge with a roar. A batarian staggered back, screaming. The IFV’s turret swivelled, gunfire raking above Bastillo’s head as he threw himself down. A child’s yellow toy car was barely inches from his face as bullets punched into someone’s living room. The second rocket fired. This time it was a hit, striking the IFV in the side. It blew the side inwards - and the third rocket smashed the turret right off. 

“Victor down!” Bastillo whooped, getting back up and setting his rifle to his shoulder as Johansen opened up with his light machinegun. The corporal fired a grenade from his launcher at the bridge, grinning to himself. 

The familiar hit of adrenaline was coursing through Tan's veins now, wiping the sorrowful thoughts from his memory.

"Third squad, move up!" He stood to his full height, firing quick bursts down at the batarians on and near the bridge. Some were alight, trying desperately to put themselves out, but machinegun fire put a quick end to their futile charade.

He walked forward coolly, feeling a Marine, he didn't know who, come up on his left and right. Rosie was still down on one knee behind him, he knew, though couldn't see, observing, and waiting to call in the mortar.

The batarians were panicking and breaking, he could see it from the way they moved, struggling to focus on one target. After he had covered some distance, he and the two Marines with him threw themselves down, still a few dozen metres from the bridge. 

The Marine on his left suddenly deafened him when the LMG opened fire, cutting a swathe across the bridge and, his experience told him, Corporal Trevan would be leading another two or three Marines in a similar path to the one he'd just followed, closer to the bridge.

Some of the batarians made a run for it, heading for the other side of the bridge and the illusion of safety from the machine guns and rifles raining fire onto its span. Another roared something like a challenge and turned, flinging a grenade in the direction of Charlie Team. 

“Grenade!” Bastillo yelled a warning as he fired - stitching a line up the front of the batarian’s shields before they failed and the last bullet punched through his chest plate. The pirate dropped like a sack of potatoes. 

The Marines of Charlie Team threw themselves to the ground in the moment before the grenade went off.

Tan gritted his teeth, knowing what the shockwave would feel like. He wasn't close enough to be wounded, but he would feel it. 

His ears were suddenly assaulted once more, this time by the explosion. His ears rang loud momentarily. When the sense came back, he heard screaming. 

Tan sworr, sticking his head up from the grass to look. The two Marines, Trevan and Buckley were firing their weapons at the bridge, though Tan didn't think they could see what they were aiming at.

The third was rolling in agony, rifle nowhere to be seen. Tan got on the radio. "Suppress, suppress! Rosie, mortars!" 

He heard the short bursts of machineguns and rifles rise to a cacophony in his ears, as all weapons suddenly went full auto and their users took a knee. He stood up, kept his head dipped low and sprinted, full bear and under fire. He ran until he collapsed on top of the wounded Marine, grabbing her arm and in a swift motion hauling her onto his back. Both legs dangled uselessy, pouring blood onto his already soiled shirt. 

He heard Corporal Bastillo take over, and saw Rosenberg start to move toward him as chunks of houses were thrown up on the other side of the bridge when the mortars hit. This too shook and rattled his teeth.

He took his casualty to the front yard that the gunners were in and dropped her below the low fence. "Keep her!" He shouted before returning to the fray. 

One of the assistant machine-gunners, PFC Westfield, was a combat first aider - not that she had her normal kit with her. She settled for tightening tourniquets around the Lance Corporal’s legs until the other woman swore and shouted at her, then put medigel on the worst of the words, blood splattered over both of them. 

Bastillo shouted at the others, “Keep up the pressure!”

He fired burst after burst in the direction of the batarian unit - not that anyone could see shit with the smoke and dust from the mortar rounds striking. It was close enough each explosion could be felt in their teeth. 

When the smoke cleared, there was nothing moving on the bridge or over it.

“Cease fire, cease fire,” the corporal called out, leaning against the nearby fence. The wounded lance corporal was groaning with pain each time Westfield had to push medigel into her wounds. Bastillo could taste smoke and blood on his tongue. 

“I think - I think that’s the last of them, Staff.”

The enemy IFV smouldered in the middle of the bridge. 

"Good fuckin' work, Marines." Tan turned his run into a jog, watching the squad all start to stand up, though still wary, and move further to the bridge. "Anyone else wounded?' 

He heard a couple of "Negative," and "No Staff"'s on the radio, and flicked it again for the platoon com. "Lancer White Actual, this is five. Have one Whiskey India Alpha, requesting Starlight, over."

Then, as his Marines worked to secure the bridge, checking the corpses for movement, he yelled out, "Yo, Solar, where you at?"

_“Lance White copies. Negative on Starlight, he can’t leave the CCP right now, you’ll have to bring the wounded to us, over.”_ There was regret in Shepard’s voice - but also a firm command.

“Here, boss!” Solar came forward, cycling a new heat sink into his rifle,”Cover me, I’ll have these charges set in no time.” He jumped down to the river bank and ran over to one of the supports, already pulling one of the stolen charges out of his webbing.

Tan flicked the radio. "Roger that. Out," was his reply though he directed it to both Shepard and Solar. He gave a couple of quick hand signals and a harbour was established, with he and Solar in the centre - the rest of the squad, save for Westfield, the wounded, and the couple of Marines with AT were down on their knees, eyes and heads facing out. "How long do you think it will take, Corporal?"

Before he got a response, he made sure to issue another command, to take care of his wounded Marine. "Westfield, can you and Private Mito take Rafiqa back to the CCP? Drop her there, tell Tilki it was a grenade wound, and come back here ASAP."

The two Marines nodded and went to do as ordered - finding a long piece of wood to lie Rafiqa on as a makeskip stretcher. 

“Ten minutes, boss,” Solar replied.

That was when a ground car sped towards the bridge. 

Johansen raised his gun - but then Bastillo seized his arm, forcing the barrel low.

“Stop that, you fuckwit! That’s a civilian vehicle.”

It screeched to a halt at the sight of them - and the bodies/burning armoured vehicle. An older man with very nicely done hair and a goatee stuck his head out the window. “Human?”

“Yes,” Bastillo called back, smirking, “pro tip - two eyes, human, four eyes batarian.”

“Now,” the man’s face flushed red, “I won’t be taking that from you, young man, not today of all days!”

Tan jogged over, sticking his head almost through the guy's window. "I'm Staff Sergeant Tan, boss of these Marines. What are you doing here, sir? You should be in shelter." 

“One of the shelters!” He boomed, “The whole of the eastern city is overrun by pirates! Where are the Alliance’s troops? What do we pay taxes for?”

"The fleet was overwhelmed, best we could see, sir," Tan was annoyed. He'd lost two Marines today, with three more earning serious injuries. "There's no way the Alliance can guard the entire galaxy at once - but, look, that doesn't matter. It's not safe here. This is practically a war zone. Our platoon commander is back up the hill, at the militia base. Leave your car here, and you can accompany some of my Marines there."

100 or more metres behind, Westfield and Mito were loading Rafiqa up. He couldn't hear her screams, thankfully, but knew without proper equipment, the agony would be palpable.

“Fine,” he snapped and strode past the Marines in their loose formation, headed towards the two Marines and their patient.

“Prick,” Bastillo observed after he’d gone. “Maybe I shoulda just let Johansen shoot him.”

“One down!’ Solar called, “Just need to do the other load bearing pillar.”

Tan looked at Bastillo with a small, suppressed smile. "Sorry I got involved. We should have called another barrage - no one would look too closely." He became serious again after a few moments. "Search his vehicle, discreetly if you can, so he doesn't notice. I don't want any nasty surprises." Tan didn't really suspect a car bomb, but it was better to be safe than sorry. And, as a bonus, Bastillo might find something useful, like a pack of gum for the platoon to share.

He looked over to Solar. "Good work," he called. "Move as quick as you can. I want to blow this fuckin' thing and get rolling." He was getting antsy, starting to feel exposed.

"I'll advise the Lieutenant that Rafiqa and that asshole are on the way," smirked Rosenberg before turning on the radio and hailing the rest of the platoon.

Bastillo and Johansen searched the car - with quite a bit of glee. They came out with a few cans of drink they tossed around and indeed, a packet of gum.

“Done!” Solar pulled himself back onto the road, “everyone get back!”

The squad shrank back, finding some good cover and getting low. "If anyone wants to do that badass, walking away from an explosion, now's the time," Rosie shouted gleefully.

"He's kidding," said Tan, deadpan. "Check your buddies. All good?" He heard no complaints, gave himself a quick patdown and covered his ears. "Do it."

“Fire in the hole!” Solar yelled and then the explosives went off. The whole world seemed to shake, grey smoke and dust billowing up. When it started to settle, the bridge had collapsed into the river, the stubs of the support pillars sticking up out of the water like broken teeth.

“That’s one good demolition job if you ask me,” the engineer said with satisfaction.

Tan smiled. Every Marine liked a bit of carnage. It was so, so good to hear the rattle of a controlled explosion and to see the destroyed bridge now looking more like stalks of wheat at harvest than a road.

Tan slapped Solar on the shoulder. "Excellent work, Marine. That is textbook." He looked over to Bastillo. "Our friend is gonna have to pay more in taxes to fix this bridge up, now!"

Then he turned and directed the squad to follow. “Alright, we had our fun. The armoury should be safe from AFVs from this direction. Let's get back to the battery! Back in diamonds, and don't lose focus!"

The air of the Marines heading back to the rest of their platoon was less grim, now. It felt good to be reminded that they were a force to be reckoned with. Fighting slavers was a different ballgame to fighting professionals and EF. Now they just had to hope they didn't have to fight anymore.

When they reached the battery, Shepard had been busy. Militia teams had already begun delivering supplies from the armoury, and the Marines resembled scurrying ants - laying concertina wire, digging foxholes, putting static machineguns into place. 

The arsehole from before was talking to a very bored looking Shepard. 

“Who put a teenager in charge?” he demanded. 

“I’m twenty-two,” Shepard said mildly, “Karimi! C’mon, you look like you’re gardening. Get some bloody depth into that trench!”

Tan approached, the rest of the squad going off to assist their comrades and build their own defensive positions. Rosie jogged off to check on his wounded Marine.

Tan didn't salute, since they both weren't in uniform, and he was wary of a sniper taking a shot.

He did, however, make sure to hit the 'ma'am' hard.

"Bridge is destroyed, _ma'am._ No danger coming from that side anytime soon. One wounded, _ma'am._ Solar did a good job." He looked over at the man. "Would you like to help my Lieutenant's Marines dig, or get them some water, or would you like to go back to the armoury to wait with the children?"

His face flushed even redder if that was possible.

Shepard cut him off. “I don’t have time to deal with this shit. Those are your options - I suggest you take one.”

He slunk off and with a sigh of relief, Shepard turned back to Tan. “Good job on the bridge. I’ve set up defences - can you see anything I’ve missed?” 

Tan took it all in. "Wire, gunpits with overlapping fields of fire, wire to establish killzones, foxholes, intersecting trenches… With the time and the equipment we have, no Ma'am, this seems good. Ideally, we would be able to create some tank traps or set out AT mines, but I very much doubt we'll have the luxury of preparing that. Good work, Lieutenant."

“Thanks, Staff,” she rubbed her face, “I hope its enough. We had to blow that bridge but - well, we’ll get everything our way now.”

"Better than slavers coming across a barely defended group of civvie kids and their parents," he replied softly. But it didn't feel much better. "How are the repairs coming along? Has the Army got an ETA? I think we need to get it firing again as soon as it's back online and to hell with the consequences."

“Twenty minutes,” Shepard said grimly, “And I agree. The whole fuckin’ city will fall if there’s no AA towers.”

Tan nodded. "How did it come to this?" he murmured. Louder, so Shepard could hear, he added, "A single Marine platoon, half a militia, and a handful of wounded soldiers single handedly defending off a flotilla of pirates? Someone in intelligence dropped the ball."

“You know what they say,” Shepard’s voice was thick with bitterness, “Military intelligence - isn’t.” For a moment she looked like what she was - an overwhelmed twenty-two year old who was afraid to die. 

"That's right." Tan rubbed his face wearily. The day had been drawing on, shadows ever growing longer. They'd lost a handful of Marines, some dead, some were wounded now, and all on what was supposed to be a fun, or at least uncontroversial, day of leave.

"How are you holding up, Lieutenant?"

“I just…” SHe looked away, rubbing at her face and just managing to smear black soot across her dark cheek, “I keep thinking that maybe I’ve just gotten everyone killed.” She pitched her voice low so none of the surrounding Marines could hear but Tan. A staff sergeant could hear his platoon commander’s insecurities, but never her Marines. 

Tan looked at her blankly. "No Ma'am," he said slowly. "What's the alternative? Pockets of your Marines are cowering in cafes, trying to keep small groups of civilians alive? You rallied them, to protect something that might actually make a difference."

Tan had always been a straight shooter, stoic, impregnable. He could be blunt, but he was very rarely wrong. "If we all die? So be it. At least we struggled, maybe we hold the invaders off long enough for the fleet to arrive. Whatever happens, we did our jobs. That's our number. And yours is to make sure we're doing ours the best we can. What did I tell you when you lost your first Marine? You can't predict everything, no matter how many books you read. But we can do our best. And that's what we have done - and what you have enabled us to do."

“I…” she opened her mouth and then closed it. Straightened her shoulders and tried to put a bit of steel in her posture. Right now she felt a lot like a kid way out of her depth, but if Tan had faith she’d done the right thing - well, she had to live up to that. Live up to the faith these Marines had shown her by even following her orders in the middle of all this madness. The only other alternative besides the one Tan had put to her was retreat - and she wasn’t sure her Marines would have forgiven her for that when there was a chance they could do something that mattered. “You’re right, Staff Sergeant. As usual.”

Anything else she might’ve said was cut off by one of the Marines yelling, “Friendly comin’ in!”

A fireteam of militia drove into the battery in a civilian ute, two heavy machineguns in the bed. Shepard grinned. Then the driver got out, followed by her comrades, and the lieutenant blinked. “Is that...turians?”

Three of the militia soldiers were turians, with the worn plates of those in at least their middle age. One was clearly in charge - even before Shepard noted the sergeant’s chevrons on her sleeves - as she directed the other turians and the one human with them to start unloading the machineguns.

Something complicated flickered over Shepard’s face before it was sealed behind a polite, professional expression.

Tan seemed to notice Shepard's expression change, though his was still flat. "At least they're actual professionals," he said mildly.

Tan waved the turian over, but closed the distance somewhat. "Sergeant? I'm Staff Sergeant Tan. We're one Marine Platoon, the boss is Lieutenant Shepard, over here. The guns will be online soon and we can start hammering these pricks in the sky. Where did you come from? What were you just doing?"

“Sergeant Jakarius reporting,” the turian said crisply, voice reverberating with that way all turian voices seemed to, “I’m part of the 5th Military Police Company, Colonial Guards.” So, Jiang’s unit. “It took us a while to reach the armoury with the enemy patrols in the streets and by then you’d already departed.” Her voice had the familiar rote of a soldier reporting, “We’ve brought you the company’s two heavy machineguns. I’m afraid we can’t bring any of the other machineguns without compromising the armoury. Is there anything else we can do? We’re all former Hierarchy MPs. We can fight if you need extra rifles.”

Shepard glanced at her platoon sergeant.

Tan nodded. "We would appreciate that, Sergeant. We could always use the extra hands." Tan glanced at Shepard. "Though, do any of your soldiers have any medical experience with humans? We've sustained some wounded and our Hospital Corpsman might need some extra help." He turned all the way to Emilia. "Ma'am?"

“No real experience but we have done the Colonial Guards’ first aid courses,” Jakarius said, “so we can help.”

“That could be helpful. If you could run ammunition to my fighting positions, help evac and care for casualties?” she wondered for a moment if the turians would be offended, given they were former Hierarchy soldiers.

But the sergeant just nodded, “Yes ma’am. We could go get some more ammunition in one last trip? I expect the enemy will attack soon, especially once the guns are firing, and we’ve got the car.”

“That would be very helpful, thank you.”

“Yes ma’am. I will go get that load of ammunition and then report to your corpsman,” the turian didn’t salute - not in the middle of a battle, but there was an uprightness to her posture.

After an awkward moment Shepard realised - “Dismissed, sergeant.”

The turian gestured to her fellows and they piled back into the ute. 

Shepard watched it drive off. “...huh.”

"I'll never get used to dealing with them," Tan remarked. "Very… rigid and abrupt. Almost like a Sergeant Major. But, they should hopefully be more useful than some of the uni students."

“Yeah.” Shepard’s jaw clenched, unclenched. People were people, all that open minded shit. But Shepard had grown up in the shadow of the First Contact War - Hannah had always carried it with her, from the quiet grief she wore but never spoke of and the folded flag she kept in her office. “They’ll do a job at least.”

"They will." Tan nodded curtly. He was Shanxian Chinese, and old enough that he not only lived through the war, he had been old enough to remember the occupation.

At fourteen years of age, the turians had been brutal, though fair, in their own way. But it left the scars all the same. A father who drank a little too much, a mother who didn't care just enough, and he would never forget the first time he saw a turian up close. 

"And we'll be the better for it," he added grimly.

“Get those guns up,” she told him, nodding to the two heavy machineguns - and trusting him to know who would be best on them. “I’m going to go check on the Army.”

"Aye, aye." Tan began the task, grabbing two of the closest Marines, Corporal Bustillo and Lance Corporal McConnell who had been expanding a slit trench.

"Get these MGs ready to go. Once you're done, McConnell, go and grab Lance Corporal Piraino, Lance Corporal Ozols, Private Mito, and PFC Baddie. Tell Alvarez that she's in charge of your team and Vlahovic is to come with her."

"Aye, aye!" 

They worked quickly with Tan and before the long, the guns were placed, charged, and ready to go.

"Go now McConnell. Bustillo, when the assault begins, you're in the charge of this MG team. The most important thing is for you to keep both of these firing, no matter what. I'll get AT and a marksman rifle - you need to coordinate the fire and observe for threats. I'll help you when I can. Do you think you can handle it?"

Bustillo was somewhat new to his Corporal’s stripes, but there was a strange calm to him - especially in comparison to some of the other Marines. Perhaps he was just one of those men who excelled under pressure. He nodded. “I won’t let you or the LT down, Staff Sergeant.”

Tan smiled and it was genuine. He'd pegged Bustillo for the rifles and chevrons as soon as he'd seen him. Maybe he was even destined for a Top billet. Tan hoped that he would at least live that long. "Good man. I knew you wouldn't."

McConnell came racing back before long. "Here we are, Staff."

"Thanks. Alright, Bustillo's in charge of you lot. Corporal, get your team sorted out and make sure they know what to do. If you need me, just ping me and I'll be back when I can."

He walked quickly off, in the same direction Emilia had just gone. With any luck, the gun would be back on soon.

When Shepard came jogging towards him, she was smiling - a sharp smile. “Guns are coming online.” 

As if to punctuate her statement, one of the huge planetary guns towering above them boomed - loud enough to make the ears ring and the whole world shiver. The projectile arced up, up - and smashed into a frigate hovering over the city. It was pretty much point blank range for the battery, and the ship split into halves, spilling her shattered innards across the sky. That was quickly followed by a flash of red light - a GARDIAN laser, slicing through a gunship. 

Some of the Marines whooped and cheered. 

“Hell yeah,” Shepard grinned.

Tan smirked. Anyone who joined the Marine Corps had to have some appreciation for bone-rattling, concussion-causing massive fuck-off explosives. Most junior Marines’ favourite part of basic training was the grenade range for that reason, and the Staff Sergeant couldn't help himself.

But as the second round tore into the atmosphere, his smirk faded and instead his face again became grim and determined. "C'mon," he said to Emilia. "This thing is loud - and I think it's going to wake the hornet's nest soon."

What Shepard wouldn’t do for a howitzer or even a Trident or two. What they had was a haphazard collection of small arms, rocket launchers and the mortar. 

Adapt and overcome, or whatever. She’d just have to hope it would be enough. 


	4. Line in the Sand

_“Lancer White Actual, this is Birdy,”_ Lance Corporal Romero, the platoon’s marksman, perched on of the towers with his marksman rifle and a rocket launcher, called over the net to Shepard, “ _Contact bearing 153, nine hundred metres. Infantry, platoon strength. Four IFVs, over.”_

“Acknowledged, Birdy. Fire at will, over.” She glanced over at Tan, her glee at the explosions fading into seriousness. 

_“Roger that, Actual. Birdy out.”_

“Netcall, this is Actual. We have incoming; mechanised infantry platoon. Fire at will, prioritise victors, over.”

Emilia took a moment to think over her defences, get it clear in her head. They had a defensive perimeter, but she’d put Third Squad on the main gate leading deeper into occupied Illyria - she expected they’d take the brunt of the attack, and First Squad was demoralised and she didn’t know if Whitman would deal with it. Rosenberg would. The two heavy machineguns under Bastillo’s command had good, overlapping fields of fire, supported by the light machineguns carried by her squads. First Squad had one flank, Second the other. ‘Fourth’ - a motley collection of militia volunteers led by Sergeant Jakarius - would run ammunition, evacuate casualties and in a pinch act as her reserve. 

Tan gritted his teeth and shouldered his rifle. "Here we go." He swaggered closer to where he'd left Bastillo on the right side of the gate and, finding cover, peered out into the parkland in front of him. 

The images across the open ground were mostly silhouettes at this distance in the waning sun. 

One of the HMGs fired off a short burst, but Shepard saw the tracers go wide, raising little puffs of dirt when they hit the ground. Tan called over to the gunner, who looked to be Ozols. "Calm down! No need for nerves! Just visualise, sight picture, breathe, and fire!"

Ozols nodded and looked to steady himself, but he waited on the trigger until the enemy force was a bit closer.

Tan started calculating artillery bearings and distance, plugging a few figures into his omnitool. He estimated where the infantry would likely dismount - if they did at all - and prepared for when the fighting would get hottest.

Shepard raised her rifle, studying her enemy through the 2x optic. Infantry for now - a probing attack? Punch them, and see how hard they hit back. There was an exchange of gunfire when the infantry came into range, gunshots cracking across the parklands, echoing in her ears. She fired off a burst, the shots skating off a batarian’s shields. 

Then the forbidding rumble of vehicle engines. She licked her cracked lips. 

The ground in front of her position exploded, and she was on the ground, breath driven out of her lungs - and all she could see was smoke and thrown up dust. All she could hear was the ringing in her ears. 

Tan had started towards her, ready with his calculated artillery bearing. At her being tossed to the ground, he had slid in, right next to her. "Lieutenant!" He yelled and started doing a quick inspection. He ran his hands down her arms and legs, squeezing to feel for breaks, dislocations, or any other abnormality.

"Are you okay?!"

Shepard shook herself, still dazed, “I-I think so.” It didn’t seem anything was broken, but when she touched her face, she was bleeding. Shrapnel had slices across her forehead and chin, right through her bottom lip. 

"I think you've been flagged." He reached into the pouch on his vest and pulled a tube of medigel. He squeezed some into his hand and smeared it across the wounds. "Is that better? It should prevent the bleeding from getting worse." All he could really do is hope she wasn't concussed.

He looked up, towards the gate. The rifles were chattering away, his Marines answering the enemy infantry.

"I've got artillery bearings ready to go when we need fire support, ma'am. I've aimed for where I think they'll dismount infantry."

“Good, good,” she touched her face as she sat up and winced, “hit ‘em at your discretion.” The ground rumbled again at another IFV fired at the base. Not a 105mm like the Mako at least. Small, more rapid-fire chain-gun, but still very capable of killing infantry. 

The Marines nearby were looking at her every so often, anxious at the sight of their platoon commander on the ground, so she forced herself to her feet. 

Overhead streaked a rocket as Romero fired his launcher. She heard the distinctive sound of an armoured vehicle getting hit and grinned to herself.

She had to reassure her guys. “Rosie! How’s it going?”

Rosie had been up on the line, his own rifle joining the same chorus as his fellow Marines. He ducked back down into cover, looking over to Shepard. "Good ma'am, we're keeping the infantry off! And the HMGs and launchers have pretty much halted the vehicles! They're trying to stay out of range!"

"I'll see about getting arty onto them," Tan said, firing up his omnitool.

“Do it,” Shepard said. “I’m gonna go check on Whitman. I want you to keep your eyes on the main attack here.”

It was a normal division of labour between the two of them - Tan where the fighting was heaviest, the Lieutenant moving around as needed to make sure she had the best idea of what was going on, and what she needed to be doing. 

"Yes, ma'am." Tan closed the distance between him and Rosie, so he could see where the artillery should be directed. 

Whitman and his squad had set up on the right flank, defending the fence from the road and houses on this side of the battery. The air shuddered with the thundering of Tan’s mortar fire as Shepard jogged. The sky was thick with tracers. 

As Shepard approached, he bolted to her. His voice was tinged with panic, but he seemed determined "Ma'am! We need more launchers over this side! We don't have anti-personnel grenades, as soon as they figure it out, they'll tighten up and push!"

He registered the torn lip and fresh blood all in the next moment. "Shit! You've been hit!"

“Get some more grenades from the ammo stockpile then. Send a runner or two,” Shepard said patiently, “I need the rocket launchers pointed at the road. You’ll be fine, they can’t get vehicles over here without passing the front gate. And I’m fine. Winged me, is all.”

To tell the truth, by the way her head was ringing she was relatively sure she had a concussion, but he didn’t need to know that.

"I-..." Whitman cut himself off, obviously thinking better of whatever he was going to say. "Yes ma'am."

He looked around and his eyes found his trusty fuck-up, who was currently prone and firing wildly with quick bursts into the distance.

"Kellog!"

The other man looked up. Whitman jerked his head towards him and the Lieutenant. Kellog came over, doing his best to keep his head low.

"Yes sergeant?"

"I need you to go run some grenades and ammo back here. Can you handle that?"

"Yes sergeant!"

And then Private Kellog was off.

"Thank you ma'am. Are the other squads busy?"

“Third is in heavy contact,” she said simply, “how’re things here?”

"We're surviving. I think you have the worst of it."

Tan had evidently called in another barrage as the earth shook and dirt was thrown high, visible over the perimeter wall. "But I won't say no to some of that. I'm worried they're going to start taking up positions in the houses - they're using fences for cover at the moment, but that's about it."

“Keep an eye on it.” She patted her sergeant on the shoulder. “If you need mortar fire once they start pushing, call it in. You got this.”

"Aye, aye." He gave her a last look, as if to make sure she was okay, and then jumped back up to where his platoon was firing.

Kellog rushed past the Lieutenant and presented a few grenades to Whitman, who promptly started handing them to his riflemen.

_"Lancer White Actual, this is five,"_ came Tan over Shepard's radio. _"Three could use your help, over."_

She keyed her comm, “Five, Actual, on my way, out.” 

She left Whitman, ducking between the huge ground to orbit guns - still firing, almost ceaselessly. She heard increased gunfire and explosions, and lengthened her strides. She ducked instinctively as gunfire came whistling over the perimeter wall. 

“Fuck!” She spotted where Tan and Rosenberg were. She slid into cover beside them, “They pushing?”

"Yep." Both of the NCOs seemed grim.

"I think they realised that we don't have much in the way of fire support."

"The mortar is helping, but it's not enough," Tan explained grimly. The vehicles were moving towards the gate, chain-guns firing quickly, with the infantry close by.

Tan turned away to keep directing the mortars.

"I'm not sure we have much more time. Can we get mines or something out there before they reach us?"

“Not without Solar getting shot to shit trying. We’ve got claymores on the perimeter if infantry get close, but no anti tank mines.” The engineer had disappeared to the battery’s motor pool, muttering to himself - she had just left him to it. Shepard winced as a burst of machinegun fire cut through the air above her. “C’mon AT, get those rockets up!”

A solid thunk came from nearby as an AT rocket was launched by a nearby Marine, to no avail. "Fuck sake!"

"This isn't getting any better."

Whitman was on the radio again, from the right flank. _"Actual, this is two, be advised, enemy vehicle has halted and infantry are dismounting."_

Tan cocked an eyebrow. "What are they doing? I'm gonna go have a look." He jumped up, and moved quickly over to the right side of the compound. Whitman was firing his rifle over the wall, the sergeant’s face dripping with sweat.

"Whitman, what do you see?" As Tan slid down next to him, it became clear.

"Lots of movement from the back of that vehicle," he explained, and the shapes of enemy infantry were clearly running around in a chaotic, yet organised, fashion. 

They watched in silence together for a few moments. A metal plate was unloaded from the side of the vehicle and then some tubes. It clicked in Tan's mind.

"They're building a fucking emplacement."

Whitman went pale. "Oh shit. That'll tear right through our cover and open up our whole flank."

If they were well trained and knew how to set it up quickly, the Marines had maybe a few minutes to destroy the components or eliminate the team and render the weapon unusable.

"Lancer White Actual, Five, enemy sappers are preparing a heavy weapon to destroy our position, how copy, over?"

Shepard’s voice was tense, “Acknowledged. Can you eliminate the sappers before they’re done, over?”

Her voice was almost drowned out when PFC Vlahovic screamed and fell down from where he’d been on the perimeter, firing towards the enemies, his legs collapsing beneath him and his rifle clattering to the ground. “Fuck! Fuck, I’m hit!”

Blood was rapidly spreading across the concrete ground, sullen red. He’d been hit in the pelvis, where he wasn’t covered by his vest. His battle buddy, Baddie, was immediately on him, trying to get medigel on his wounds as Corporal Alvarez called for the casualty collection team. 

___

There was a few seconds of dead air until Tan's voice crackled back in. _"Consider it done Actual. Five out."_

___

Whitman looked to Tan at Shepard's response. 

"AT?"

"At this distance," a few hundred metres, "I think they'd pick your rocketeer off before they could launch."

"Mortars?"

"We need a certain kill." The Platoon Sergeant hung his head for a moment before flicking his comm. "Consider it done, Actual. Five out."

He took a minute to breathe. _"Fuck."_

Whitman was dead silent for a moment, the colour still drained from his face. He knew where this was going. "What's the plan, Staff?"

"Give me your grenades and a rocket. I'm jumping this fence. Flanking them through Suburbia. Cover my street crossing and then give me about 30 seconds. After that, get every rifle and gun you have up, on full-auto suppressing the fuck out of them. When I hear you go weapons hot, I'm gonna try and take out the vehicle and the emplacement."

"Are you fucking crazy, Staff?"

Tan gave a humourless but razor sharp smile. "Maybe. We all gotta die someday, buddy."

Whitman pressed the grenades into Tan's hands and organised a nearby rocket. "Oorah."

"Now just pray that I don't run into an enemy squad."

Tan's rifle was collapsed and slung. He held the launcher in one arm and the small pouches on his very limited flak jacket were full with five grenades, though he had no smoke.

"You ready?"

Whitman nodded and got his rifle back on the line. "Go!"

Tan climbed furiously, throwing the launcher over ahead of him. He dove from the top recklessly, ignoring the pain from the impact as bullets cracked above his head like a lethal whip.

He didn't even take the time to let the air back into his lungs. Tan scooped the launcher up and, sprinting at full pelt, he threw himself over a low hedge and sprawled onto a manicured lawn. Again, he took no time to rest. 

Without bothering to check or clear, he ran from house to house, trying to minimise the chance of being spotted before he reached his destination. As he crossed the final side street, he heard a noticeable increase in the volume of incoming fire from the position he had just left and figured it was probably Whitman's squad opening up.

He'd been fortunate so far, but allowed himself just one moment to steady his nerves and mutter a prayer in Shanxian Mandarin.

"Here we go." 

All that separated him from the entire invasion force was a thin, concrete half wall. He pulled himself up and brought the launcher to bear. He pulled the trigger and it slammed into the side of the vehicle that had been less than twenty metres away. 

He dropped the launcher and pulled a grenade loose, pressing the arming button and threw it. The sappers had only just recovered from the first explosion when the second one rocked them, blowing some of them clear of the half-assembled weapon platform they had been working on. 

As the survivors started getting their weapons trained on Tan, he pulled another grenade free, rmed and threw it with his left hand. With his right, he cleared his rifle and started firing in the enemy's general direction.

He threw one more grenade before his weapon clicked and he ducked into cover. His KB was almost completely dead. He stuck just his head over the top of the wall to have a look at the destruction he'd caused. He was met with a hail of gunfire, but he was a small target now. He was pleased with what he saw.

The vehicle was clearly in no shape to move or fire its main weapon anymore. The armour hadn't been penetrated, but two of the wheels had been completely destroyed and the turret was sitting at an odd angel.

The emplacement was now a pile of twisted, jagged metal and the crew who were setting it up were mostly dead or wounded.

Tan decided he did the best he could. He ran back the way he had come, weaving through gardens and behind houses until he could see the fence.

"Lancer White Actual, Five. The emplacement and one vehicle is down, over."

_“Roger that. Good work, over.”_

Second Squad was unloading with their rifles and machineguns on the rest of the enemies to give Tan cover.

_“Lancer Actual, this is Lancer One.”_ The ragged voice of Corporal Richards came over the net. 

_“Send it, One, over.”_

_“Contact bearing 093. Squad strength dismounts, coming up through the houses, over.”_

_“Copy that, One. Do you require reinforcements? Over.”_

_“Affirm. They’re getting pretty close before we can get eyes on, over.”_

_“Roger. Wait one, out.”_

With the demoralised First Squad in contact, they were now surrounded on three sides. 

_"Fuck._ It never fucking ends, does it?" Tan scrambled back over the fence, receiving a nice, neat cut from the barbed wire topper in his haste as his visor displayed a flashing warning that his KB was at critical power.

Third squad gave a cheer as they saw him clamber back.

"That was nuts!" Whitman shouted, rushing to join him.

"No time to celebrate," Tan replied breathlessly. "Did you hear the net? We need to support one. I'm taking three of your Marines with me, you should have less heat now that the vehicle and sappers are down, but if it kicks off, you get onto us straight away, understood?"

"Yes boss." Whitman stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled to get his squad's attention. He allocated three of his remaining Marines to follow Tan, who had already started towards the other side.

As he came up on Shepard, he slid down next to her. "You've got a haphazard fireteam," he said, gesturing to him and the other three. "What's the sitch with one?"

“At least thirteen dismounts, small arms so far, but they’re getting close to the wire before First can get fire on them,” she said tersely, “and they’re already undermanned.”

"Dammit. I'll see what I can do." Staying low, he moved quickly towards Richards and her squad - what was left of it anyway. The foreboding sign of the enemy vehicle became very apparent. 

It was moving slowly through the tight confines of suburbia, bulldozing through the fences that stood in its way, so that the soldiers behind it could advance without being seen and shot at. 

"You got any AT, Corporal?" He asked her before directing his Marines to try and halt the enemy movements. "I've only got one grenade. I'm gonna try and get a mortar onto these fuckers."

“Shou!” Richards shouted, and the Marine scrambled towards them, the rocket tube banging against his back. 

“Yeah?” Shou’s face gleamed with sweat as bullets cracked overhead.

“We need to get that APC down,” Richards said, wincing as a bullet struck the nearest wall opposite them, showering them with chips of concrete. 

“I keep trying,” the PFC shot back, clutching his rifle to his chest, “but I keep nearly getting hit.”

"Here," Tan gave her his rifle and took the launcher from her. "I'll do it. Full-auto, just cover me."

Tan came up to the breach, with Shou beside him. He uttered another prayer in Mandarin and saw Shou's lips follow his. He paused for a moment, giving himself time to count to three before he and Shou simultaneously stepped out of cover. He aimed for a moment, but the crack of incoming fire forced Shou back into cover. He let the the rocket off, watching it careen towards the target.

But he stayed out of cover too long. His shields, already weakened, finally gave way and he felt his chest rig crumple as he was thrown down, backwards from the force. He weakly rolled aside, back into cover.

“Tan!” Richards was there, kneeling over his prone form, dirt-streaked face twisted in fear. Behind her the air was thick with smoke and the popping of secondary detonations as the armoured vehicle burned. 

Tan allowed himself a moment for his panicked thoughts to calm. 

He gingerly inspected the front of the now ruined jacket with his hands. "Give me a hand with this," he said to Richards. He let her detach the clips on his left while he did the right. He pulled it away and tried to look at it.

"Fuck." There was no neat hole or great mass of blood pooling from his chest, but the white of his shirt was turning maroon. The barrier seemed to have slowed the bullet enough that the plate inside his vest had absorbed the worst of it. Instead, small grey and black fragments peppered his chest, on the centre-left of it. It was bleeding vigorously, but there was no puncture into flesh or organs, just damage to the skin.

He grinned sheepishly. "I am lucky. If the round hadn't been stopped, that would have been my heart. What's left of it, anyway. Did I get the vehicle?"

The corporal breathed out a heavy sigh of relief. “Yeah. Our MGs are back up, they’re not advancing anymore.”

Behind her Federov whooped in excitement as she fired over the perimeter wall, “Yeah fucker, stay down!”

_“Actual to Five, how copy?”_

Tan cheered along with Federov for a moment, the grin still plain on his face. He flicked his radio. "Actual, Five. All green, send it, over."

_“Enemy forces are pulling back from Two and Three, are you still in contact, over?”_

"Negative Actual. Enemy victor is down, and multiple contacts neutralised, over."

_“Roger that. Rally up with me and Three. One is to rearm and stand by, over.”_

"Roger Actual. Wilco. Five out." He took his hand away from the radio. "Alright Richards, hear that? Get a resup going, take a few moments to have a drink and rest, and then stand to." He looked over at Shou. "Good shooting PFC!" He gave her a thumbs up and then retrieved his solitary grenade and some mags from his vest, jamming them into the pockets of his shorts, and moved quickly back to where Shepard and Rosenberg were.

"Boss," he said, taking a knee next to her. "Rosie. How you holding up?"

"Better now we have a respite, Staff," Rosie said, before hocking a sizable glob spit into the dirt next to him.

“We inflicted heavy enough casualties to force them to retreat,” Shepard said with grim satisfaction, “but we’ve already suffered six wounded, not counting you,” she glanced at his bloody shirt, “and while I’ve got those turians running ammo, we’re low on anti-tank rockets. And they’ll be back. They have to take down this tower.”

"How long until the fleet comes back?"

Tan shrugged. "It's impossible to tell. The _Cairo_ was the only warship in orbit. As long as they made it out, they would have gotten a comm off, but we don't know where the rest of the fleet was steaming towards or where they are now."

Rosie nodded.

"So we hold the best we can. One is pretty understrength, I've got half of Whitman's squad there now, but that flank is going to be one of our weakest points."

Shepard nodded. “We might have to move Achebe around a fair bit as he’s needed. I kept him in reserve for the most part in this fight - didn’t want to tire him out too much. I still can’t get in contact with the garrison, so we’ve still got no air support or heavier artillery. Or...medevac for that matter.” a flash of pain crossed her face. “Tilki has said that...that Vlahovic isn’t going to make it if we don’t get a medevac and we can’t. We could get the turians to take our wounded back to the armoury where they’ll be safer but it’s not a hospital.”

Tan shook his head. "I don't think we should ma'am," he said grimly. _Compartmentalise._ "The manpower is better used elsewhere. We won't have relief until the fleet comes and, well, you're right. The armoury isn't a hospital."

Her shoulders slumped, “Yeah. Tilki said he’d...he’d make Vlahovic as comfortable as possible.”

Tan leaned forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. "He'll do his best," he said softly. And it was true. Tilki had been known to work to the bone at the worst of times, but now, in these circumstances? He would bet on Tilki working on the wounded even if he was at the end himself. "We're all doing our best."

"Oorah," added Rosie, though sadly.

Tan reached for his chest, to grab his canteen, but then remembered it had been abandoned with his vest over by One. "I'm thirsty. Can I have a sip?"

Shepard handed him hers “There’s some taps inside the battery if anyone needs them.”

"Thanks." Tan took a swig, then splashed a little into his hand and rubbed at his face. The day wasn't incredibly warm - well, it was by Elysium standards - but all the adrenaline and fighting had pumped the blood up into his head and face.

Rosie nodded. "I'll let my guys know. Does One?"

"I told them to have a drink and a moment to rest. They'll figure it out."

There was a distant thud, Tan reflexively lowered his head. "Was that an outgoing shell?"

There was another one. "Almost certainly," Rosie said. "But the real question is whether it's being fired at us, or if someone-"

There was no whistle overhead and no warning. The shell had been silent all through the air since it was fired until it landed and detonated with a deafening explosion and Rosie's sentence was cut off.

Not because of the noise, but because he suddenly wasn't there anymore. Sergeant Rosenberg had been on a knee, clutching his rifle to his chest, but when the shell landed immediately behind him, he was suddenly torn apart. His crouched form became a plume of fine, bloody mist, assorted scraps of armour and hunks of flesh.

Instinctively Shepard had pulled up a barrier, shielding herself and Tan but when the dust settled it dropped and the lieutenant fell to her knees, staring in mute horror at where her squad leader had been, at the scraps of him that remained. She’d seen people get shot and stabbed, pulped bone and flesh with her biotics but this - God this -

"Holy shit." Tan, beside her, looked equally as shocked. It was so… indiscriminate. Rosie took a lot of the blast and the shrapnel that his body didn't absorb harmlessly clattered away from Shepard's shields.

The second shell landed somewhere else, though Tan wasn't quite sure where. He stared agape in horror until a third shell impacting just short of their gate broke his reverie.

"Fuck!" He snarled, pulling his rifle in and turning away, towards the fence and Shepard. "They've rallied."

“Everyone down!” she shouted, “get ready!”

The next few minutes were a kind of hell as howitzer shells rained down on the planetary defence battery, the air reverberating with never ending explosions that threatened to pierce the eardrums and the sound of whistling shrapnel. 

When it ended Shepard could hear the rasp of her own breathing and the ringing in her ears. “Fuck...fucking fuck.”

Private Mito was on the ground near her, staring with wide eyes and a slack mouth at the shrapnel that had cut into her stomach and legs.

“Tan? Tan…” Shepard struggled to her feet. She was covered in dust and so were most of the Marines around her, “We need to...get her to the CCP.” But first she needed - right. “Netcall, this is Actual. Casrep from all squads, over.”

_“Actual, Three. One KIA. Corporal Hyeon-Ju Lee. No other casualties, over.”_

_“Actual, Four. One wounded, over.”_ Someone had gotten Jakarius a radio after all. 

_“Actual, One. No casualties. I think the CCP got hit but I don’t have the manpower to send, over.”_

“Actual copies all,” Shepard swallowed down the hard lump in her throat. They were dying. All of her Marines were dying and she couldn’t do anything to stop it, “Stay ready, they’ll be pushing soon. Actual out.”

She wanted to scream or punch a wall but all she could do was straighten. “Someone get medigel on Mitro. I’m gonna go see the situation at the CCP.”

Tilki hadn’t replied to her radio call.

"Affirm," said Tan. He called for one of the Marines who had accompanied him to support Richards earlier to carry out Shepard's order.

"Good luck, Lieutenant," he said. He turned away again and began preparing the squads for another attack.


	5. Barrage

A shell had impacted near the little courtyard Tilki had been using as his casualty collection point. The concrete had splintered and cracked, the crater still smoking. It was deep enough that Shepard could’ve used it as a foxhole - instead she skirted around the edges, adjusting her sweaty grip on her rifle. When Shepard arrived, Sergeant Jakarius was there, directing her turian militia soldiers to move the wounded into a more defended position - inside one of the turret towers.

“Report,” Shepard said, wiping her face of sweat - and speck of blood. She didn’t want to think about whether it was Rosie’s.

“A shell landed nearby,” Jakarius replied in her two-toned voice, “Your medic covered the nearest wounded soldier with his own body and was wounded. No one was killed, but your medic told us to clear a room inside and move them. He won’t let anyone else look at his wound.”

“Where is he?”

Jakarius pointed one clawed finger and then turned back to carrying an unconscious Rafiqa inside. 

Tilki was sitting up against the tower, his face sweaty and pale despite the brown of his skin. His blue tshirt was sodden with blood. 

“How badly are you hurt?” Shepard demanded, kneeling in front of him. 

The corpsman gave her a smile, teeth startling white. “It’s not a big deal, ma’am. I just - might need help getting inside.”

“If you need help standing it’s bad -”

“There’s no one coming,” he snapped, “right? There’s no medevac.” She mutely shook her head and he nodded. “Then just...help me inside. I can still...I’ll help the others for as long as I can. There’s no one else.”

She took his outstretched hand and heaved him to his feet, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He made a low, hissed sound of pure agony, half collapsing into her, but somehow he stayed both upright and conscious. She could see it now, the wound. A splotch of white medigel across his abdomen.

A gut wound. Her heart dropped. 

“Just here,” he told her once they’d made their way into the tower and into the cleared out office Jakarius had moved the wounded into. Shepard propped Tilki against a wall, near where they’d put Rafiqa and Olmo. 

She squeezed his hand. “I…”

“It’s okay,” he squeezed back and then dropped her hand. “Sergeant Jakarius, I need you to get a IV into Rafiqa. She needs a-blood.”

“I’ve never done this before,” the turian admitted, talons twitching in uncertainty. 

“Don’t worry - I’ll talk you through it.”

Shepard left silently, feeling her eyes prickle. _Hold it together. They need you to hold it together._

“Tilki’s wounded,” she told Tan when she got back to him, her jaw clenching, “I don’t know how long he’ll last but he’s still treating for now.”

For a moment, Tan's face fell. 

But he hardened up a moment later. "We're not doing great here either," he said gruffly. "They're not advancing with the vehicles at the moment, but they're suppressing the fuck out of us. Their artillery has been so successful… I'm guessing they'll probably send a few more barrages to soften us before they make another push."

“I agree,” Shepard clenched her fists, “Keep everyone in hard cover. Who’s in charge of Third now? Trevan?” Hadn’t Tan sent Bastillo to command the MG teams? Her thoughts felt scattered and confusing. 

One thing was like a hard rock in her stomach. They were all going to die here. The garrison wasn’t coming for them. Hell, Alliance command might not even know the platoon was here, in the fight of their lives. 

Tan nodded. "Trevan. But… I don't think it really matters." They were all pretty demoralised at this point. "I'll float between the gates and Three. Do you want to take the other side? We don't really have the resources to go where we're needed as much anymore."

“Yeah, good idea.” She glanced around to make sure no one was listening. All of her Marines who were still ambulant were on the perimeter, blood stained and grimy, faces covered in concrete dust, “We need to decide on a last line of defence.” The brutal truth was that if a larger force attacked the battery their battered and under-equipped platoon wouldn’t be able to hold their perimeter. They needed one last defensive position - inside the wire. A last stand. “We have to keep the battery up as long as possible. Once the enemy hit the p”

Tan nodded. "I had just been thinking about that while you were gone. There's two ways they can shut it down, short of nuking the position and disabling it that way. They can either go inside, kill the gunners and turn it off at the controls. Or, they can climb it and cut the cables like they did last time. We can't retreat to the safety of the gun itself, we have to cover it from the outside to prevent it."

He looked over his shoulder. Most of the land had been cleared and flattened long ago to make way for the PDB by engineers. Save for holes that had been made by the incoming artillery, there was little to use as cover besides the fences and poles.

"Maybe we can try digging a gun pit into the side of a crater." He pointed at one that would give a clear line of sight to the gates and also to the front door of the battery. "That one's probably the best."

“I’ll put the spare militia on it,” she decided. “I think - either of us can call it. If one of the flanks collapses. I trust your judgement.”

"Roger that." There was a sudden, new crescendo of explosions around. He listened for groans or cries of "Medic!" or "Corpsman!", but didn't hear anything.

"You know," he said, after a few moments of silence. "You're a better Lieutenant than the last one I had. It was an honour, serving in the Traverse with you. You'll go very, very far in this Corps."

She shot him a smile, “Have to get out of here in one piece first - but thanks. You’ve been a great mentor. I mean that.” 

She held out a hand to shake. 

Tan took it gleefully. "Just don't forget about me when you make General." He smiled back and then turned to face the field again. "Well, here we go I think. Whatever happens… It's been fun."

“..yeah.” She patted Corporal Trevan on the shoulder as she passed and began to jog across the battery. A strange calm had come over her now, like all her emotions had emptied out of her. What happened now was out of her hands. The Navy would arrive or they wouldn’t. Shepard loved her Marines, but they were dying one by one - but she’d die here with them. 

She passed Sergeant Jakarius, the turian MP with her steady yellow gaze and pale blue markings, and for once the memory of growing up without one parent didn’t dig its claws into her. Shepard simply told her to start digging the last fall back fighting positions. 

“Whatever happens, we have to keep these towers up. If either myself or Sergeant Tan gives the order to fall back, we’ll need you on the firing line.”

Jakarius stared at her for a moment, and her mandibles flared. Then she said, very simply, “Die for the Cause.”

“Yeah. That.” Shepard turned and went toward First Squad’s position, feeling the turian’s eyes on her back as she went.

“LT,” Richards greeted as Shepard slid into cover. The corporal’s blonde hair was matted and grey with dust.

“Hey. What’re they doing?”

“Looks like a lot more of them this time,” Richards said quietly, grimly, “A full company I think. We’ve seen some moving amongst the houses.”

Shepard simply nodded. Then - a familiar, dreadful boom - a vehicle’s main gun. “Everyone down!”

The world exploded in fire.

Over the net, there was a short collection of screams, and someone shouted "Fuck, Bastillo!"

One of the HMGs fell silent. The gunner, Ozols, had let it go to grab Bastillo's still body, charred and bleeding on his left side and drag him back. Once he was safely in cover, Ozols stuck his head to Bastillo's chest, listening for breathing and then began compressions.

Shortly, the _thumpthumpthump_ of heavy machine gun fire died completely as the other gunner suddenly had an issue of his own. He either had a jam or an issue with the barrel, but his clearance procedure was jagged, rushed and it was clear he couldn't find the mistake. 

Tan was suddenly on the radio. _"Actual, Five. I don't hear the guns. I can't leave this flank."_ His words were undercut by the sounds of close battle and gunfire. _"You have to get them back up, how copy, over?"_

Not for the first time, Shepard pushed herself to her feet out of the dirt, gasping for air. “Someone take that tank out! Ozols! Back on the gun, now!” 

She was bleeding from her forehead now, a jagged cut sliced through her eyebrow and dripping hot, stinging blood into her eyes. 

"Tan took my tube, Ma'am!" Shou shouted from somewhere nearby, her rifle chattering angrily. "We need more AT!"

"But he's dying, ma'am!" Ozols called back. In truth, it was likely Bastillo was already dead. He wasn't moving at all and Ozols wasn't taking his time to examine his casualty. His compressions were erratic and he was looking up, towards his platoon commander. She could see the whites of his eyes. "He needs to get back to the CCP!"

A rocket flew across from the other flank, slamming into the enemy tank near the rear.

"Hit!" Shou shouted, from where she could see. Then, her voice was on the radio. _"Good shot Third! Victor hit, but send another rocket, over!".”_

“Leave him for the casualty collection team, damnit!” she snapped back, pulling at his shoulder, “They’re pushing and we need your gun up!”

"I- Shit!" A string of curses came from his mouth as he left Bastillo's side and turned to man his weapon again. "I'm on it!"

That was one gun back online.

Shepard shuffled over to the other machine gunner, Lance Corporal Lu, who was still struggling with his machinegun, “What’s the problem, Mickey?”

Another rocket streaked by. Mickey reflexively ducked his head low as it passed. Once it impacted, he lifted it back up. "I don't know. It won't discharge." He yanked the trigger a few times and nothing happened. "Magazine and ammo block are seated correctly.I didn't adjust the barrel - I've cleared it over and over."”

“You’re yanking it too hard. Slow and steady.” She ran through the reflexive movements and there - the heatsink was damaged. “Swap that out.” 

Soon both heavy machineguns were back up and Shepard let herself breathe out a sigh of relief as she let herself rest against the wall for a moment. “Five this is One, sitrep, over.”

_"Actual, Five,"_ Tan's breathing was rapid, coming in loud bursts. _"Three's fine, but we have snipers in the houses adjacent. We've got eyes on multiple victors preparing to assault your position. The main force is pressing your side, over.", over.”_

“Copy that. We are red on AT. Do you have any to spare, over?”

_"Only a handful of rockets. I'll get someone to run over what we have, over."_

“Do it. Actual out.”

Gunfire cracked over her head again. The sky was dark with smoke, the sun glowing a sullen red through the haze. She popped her head up and saw the darting figures of the enemy between the nearby suburban housing, and the low, squat forms of the rolling tanks. Great. A combined arms company.

“Rocket!” Mickey shouted, spotting a batarian kneeling and preparing to fire a shoulder launcher at them. Shepard brought up her barrier around the machinegunners just in time, the rocket exploding in front of her face with a roar. 

It felt as if the energy had drained out of her like water through a sieve and all she could see was the white after-effect of the explosion, her ears ringing yet again.

Someone grabbed her arm and pulled her into cover, and she laid there, heart pounding in her ears. 

It was Westfield, who had accompanied Tan earlier. "Ma'am!" She shouted, deafeningly loud to yell above the gunfire. "Are you wounded?!"

“I...I…Help me sit up. Just dazed, I think.” Her head hurt. 

Westfield put her rifle down and stuck a hand under Shepard's back, leveraging her up and pulling forward so she could sit. She gave her a quick glance. "You don't seem seriously injured," and then she nervously added, "This is bad, ma'am. Real bad."

“We’re holding,” Shepard said, gulping down a few mouthfuls of water, “and as long as we hold the city doesn’t fall.” She touched Westfield’s arm, “I know this is hard, but we need to keep going.” 

"Aye, aye," she replied, but it wasn't confident.

"Ma'am, I'm not sure we can hold much longer," Shou yelled over to her, pressing herself tightly behind cover.

“We have to,” Shepard said firmly, wincing as the battery shook again with the impact of a shell, “if we retreat the city falls, and if it falls we’ll all end up chipped!”

"Yes Ma'am!" Shou did get her rifle back on the line to her credit, but a lot of the Marines around didn't look too confident.

Lance Corporal Patel, from Third had been sent over by Tan. He stuck low to the ground, carrying the tube that Tan had taken from Shou earlier and awkwardly balancing another five AT rockets on top. He dumped them at Shepard's feet. 

"Rockets and launcher, LT, as requested! Tan said that's all we have over there. Turians may have more, but we have to make these count!"

“Good job, Patel.” She handed the tube over to Shou. “C’mon, let’s get the last of those tanks. Fuck the blinks.” She grabbed a ration bar out of her vest and tore it open with her teeth. Exhaustion dragged at her limbs and the battle was far from over.

"Aye ma'am!" Shou picked up the tube and slotted a rocket into it. "Give me a hand Patel!"

The Lance Corporal nodded, grabbing Shou's rifle and two of the rockets. He stood by her side as she lined up the rocket and fired it.

"Miss!" It sailed harmlessly over the top of one of the vehicles bearing down on them. "Just breathe, Shou," Patel said to her, trying to calm her. "We can't afford to waste the rockets, you need to take your time with the shot."

He helped her reload the launcher. "Ready?"

She nodded.

"Okay. Up!" He came up with her, rifle chattering away on full auto down range.

This time, the incoming fire didn't scare her off. As if inspired by Tan's earlier example, she waited, liming up her shot and let the rocket loose. Just like Tan before her, she didn't get back into cover in time. A neat burst caught her in the chest, shattering her barrier, and tossing her backwards.

Patel scooped up the launcher and put another rocket in. "Boss!" He waved over to Shepard, then motioned at Shou, who was rolling around and groaning in pain.

Shepard simply called for the casualty collection team that only minutes ago carried off Bastillo’s body and knelt over Shou, pulling a medigel tube out of her vest. She cracked it open, gently pulling Shou’s hands away from her wound and pushed the vest out of the way. A bullet had cracked the ceramic plate and the next had caught her in the ribs. Shattered bone shifted awfully under Shepard’s hands as she smeared the medigel over the entry wound. 

Shepard didn’t know what to say, even as she tried to pull the other Marine up into her so she could see the exit wound. Her voice was hoarse and cracking, “You did good, okay? You got it, you got the tank.”

"I just.. did my best," Shou managed weakly, though her teeth were gritted and the agony was palpable. She shook under Shepard’s hand, her face twisted in fear and pain. 

There was another roar from nearby as Patel fired his rocket. He ran quickly by to retrieve the last two he had left in the mud beside Shepard. He signalled to Richards. "Almost out of AT again Corporal!"”

“I know,” Shepard whispered to Shou and then Jakarius and one of her turians were there. Her clawed hand came down on Shepard’s shoulder - gentle - and pulled her away. The other turian looped his arms under Shou’s armpits and lifted her, Jakarian grabbing her legs. 

“How many tanks are left?” Shepard asked, forcing herself not to watch as the turians carried off the wounded Marines. As they did one of the armoured vehicles fired and the battery shuddered around them again. When the noise ended, someone was calling for a medic again, and the overwatch position Romero had been in was rubble. 

All Shepard could feel was a mute kind of horror. 

On the other flank, Tan, Whitman and his squad were having troubles with the snipers in the buildings nearby.

"Can we smoke this fucking shoot lane off?"

"We don't have any smokes!"

"Damn!" All Tan had was that lousy grenade from earlier. Out of frustration more than anything, he tossed it overhead. He was genemodded, so it covered quite a distance, but Tan guessed it was unlikely to help much.

"Do you have a DMR?"

"Just these shitty Mattocks with crap optics," Whitman replied.

"Well we can't go over there and clear them out one by one. I'll try the mortars again. In the meantime, can we please try and get something suppressing them?"

“On it!” Lance Corporal Piraino, her face pale with fear, scrambled up to them, carrying her light machinegun. “Okay, okay...okay. Please don’t shoot me, please don’t shoot me…Oh _fuck_ me.” 

She pushed up, bracing against the now cracked and pockmarked perimeter wall and began firing in bursts at the sniper position. Bullets tore through glass and plastisteel walls, demolishing someone’s bedroom. 

Tan briefly stopped calculating his mortar position to look up. "Good shooting Piraino!" and then he was right back to it.

After a few moments, he called in the strike. The mortarman came back with _"Shot, out!"_ and not too much longer, the first shell impacted.

"Can someone call an adjustment to me?! Which way?"

Piraino paused, slotting a new heatsink into the MG. “Short - looks like short fifty metres, Sarn’t!”

"Roger!" Tan repeated his last command through the radio, adjusting the rounds 50 metres. This time, two rounds came down range, the first landed in the front garden of a home, tossing grass and dirt through the air. The next crashed into the roof of the same house, causing the building to start rumbling and begin to collapse. A few figures bolted, trying to cross the road to get closer to the main attack force and more importantly the burnt out vehicle to use for cover.

Most of them caught machinegun fire as they rushed out of the way. There were a few ragged cheers and whoops from the exhausted Marines.

"Good job Tan," Whitman called.

The Asian man's lips were thin. "It's not over yet. That's ceased the sniper fire, but it might not have been their artillery observers. I'm going to go check on the main gate. Radio me if you need anything."

The attack was mostly beaten back on this flank for the time being. The houses on this side were too close to effectively advance a vehicle down the road. Though they made good cover for infantry and particularly snipers, the Marine force could competently hold the individual soldiers back. Without more heavy weapons or fire support, the blinks knew that the best bet was to crush a flank with vehicle advances, which is why they focused on the other side.

Staying low, Tan made his way back toward the other side.

With Bustillo and Rosie dead, Corporal Trevan was in charge of the squad, and so far he seemed to be handling it. He waved to Tan as he came over. 

“We’re getting a few probing attacks but looks like they were trying One more than us. We’re down our overwatch position though.”

"Shit. Is Romero dead?"

"I don't know," Trevan admitted, "but I think so."

"Fuck…" Another one gone… The Platoon would be in the headlines after today, and it wouldn't be a good thing. "Right, I'll sort it. Three is doing much better, we pretty much beat off that assault, so radio Whitman if you need any extras, okay? I'm going to take a look and see if I can find a spot to put a spotter or someone with a Mattock."

Still tucked low to the ground, Tan set off in the direction of the tower that Romero had been in. Looking at it closer and with purpose, it was clear that it had been hit by a shell. One half of the housing had collapsed, the metal twisting bending. If Romero had been on that side, he would have been unlucky. And very dead.

He was a handful of metres away when he heard the distant thunderbolt of artillery in the distance. Again, incoming. He picked up speed, sprinting so that he could get into cover by one of the metal legs.

Only a few more steps… And then, suddenly, Tan's foot somehow missed the earth that had just been below him. And then he was looking at the sky. And then it went black.

Tan had three thoughts when he came to. The first was whether or not he should return Rosie's birthday present he had gotten him just a few days ago. Since he was dead, he wouldn't need it.

The second was that he should avoid blacking out. It hadn't been the first concussion he'd received in his long, esteemed, bloody career in the Marines and he really didn't want to have serious, ongoing brain damage.

The third was the sudden, terrifying realisation that he had been almost directly hit by an artillery shell.

He opened his eyes. The right one refused to budge - not that it mattered much as his left could only see red and black and brown. He took a breath, the first in a long, long time, and pain coursed through him.

For a brief period, he was totally disoriented. His vision was clouded, his ears were ringing in a deafening cacophony, and all he could taste was iron. He finally realised that he was face down in the mud.

He took all the strength he could muster and used it to push himself up. He brought his leg to his chest and went to stand. Only, his legs didn't respond and he collapsed on his face again. He cried in pain, but couldn't even hear it.

Tan tried again, but this time, through sheer force of will, he rolled over onto his back. He saw the sky again, red and yellow lines streaking across it, a reminder that the battle still raged.

He stuck his hand straight up, rifle forgotten, and yelled, "Corpsman!"

There was movement above him, someone struggling through the dust and rubble the impact had thrown up, and Sergeant Jakarius appeared above him, a towering figure in the haze. Her face was caked with grey dust. 

“Staff Sergeant,” she knelt over him, “can you hear me?”

The ringing had subsided somewhat, though it was still present. "Yeah, I hear you. I don't think I can move my legs. Can you tell me if my feet are moving?" His shirt was torn to shreds now and his dark skin peppered with cuts and punctures.

She looked down and when she looked back up, her mandibles were tight to her jaw, and her eyes were grim, “I need to get you to the aid post.”

Her hands were quick as they spread medigel over the worst of his injuries. Then she paused, meeting his gaze with hers, “I will have to carry you. It will be painful. I’m sorry.”

Tan looked over to his right. The Marines - Shepards's Marines, _his_ Marines - were all still on the line. All still fighting. He couldn't leave them.

"No," he said. "Tilki will be dead soon, if he's not already and we've lost too many leaders already. There's no helping. If I die in this mud, I die in this mud. But I still have my eyes and brain." He pushed himself onto an elbow and pointed at a corner tucked safely behind the concrete of the PDB. 

"Drag me behind that, I'll coordinate the squads so Shepard can focus more on what she's doing." He met her gaze again. Gray against black. Ice against steel. "Die for the Cause."

Jakarius let out a hiss of a breath that sounded half exasperated, half approving. “As you wish. I have done what I can for you here.”

She hooked her claws under his arms and half dragged, half carried him to the corner.

Pain shot up his body like he was on fire. He yelled out as Jakarius pulled, but tried his best to silence the cry. Tan gritted his teeth together, so hard he was worried he might crunch them into dust.

The ground was uneven, having been tossed up by bullet impacts and the occasional shell. Each jolt shocked him so hard his head began to swim and his vision blurred. The seconds it took Jakarius to drag him into safety felt like an eternity.

When she finally, mercifully propped him up against the wall, he gulped the air in, panting. After a moment of resting with his eyes closed, he managed, "Thank you, Sergeant. Do what you can for my Marines."

She nodded. “We have dug the fighting positions for the fall back position. If it comes to it - I will try and bring you there.” 

"Roger. But remember I'm not a priority. There are plenty of people in better shape than me."

“Thought you humans had that ‘no one left behind’ saying,” she flicked her mandibles. The air was rent with the sound of gunfire - a staccato that rose and fell as the Marines exchanged fire with the assault force. 

Despite the odd situation, Tan grinned. "Most humans you ask will tell you that only applies to everyone else." As if to try and make the pain go away, he pinched at the bridge of his nose.

"Alright. Let's do this." Even though he had suffered a fall onto his face, his tactical visor still worked. It was always a simple process to tap it into the 'net, and after a quick reboot, he could see green dots dance in front of his eyes. He lifted his left arm up and booted up his omnitool.

As the orange glow enveloped his arm, he noticed that the wrist was also probably broken - he had even realised with all the other damage and pain he was in. It was a miracle he hadn't gone into shock yet, he figured, but he probably would manage a few more minutes. He'd stay conscious and helpful for as long as he could, to help Shepard manage the battered Marines.

With his good arm, Tan reached up to his radio and pushed the transmit button.

___

_"Actual, this is Five. Do you read me, over?"_

“Send it, over,” Shepard said shortly. A red hot heatsink fell to the ground beneath her feet, sizzling. She slotted a new one and squeezed off two shots, winging a batarian in the shoulder who fell behind cover before she could finish him. 

Beside her Richards swore, a note of hysteria, wrestling with her rifle. Several of the Marines had started to have rifle malfunctions - they’d never been in a fight where they had to put so much lead down range and the Lancers’ barrels were starting to warp from the heat of cyclic firing. Those with Mattocks were doing better - but they couldn’t put anywhere near the same amount of fire downrange.

It wasn't long before Tan's voice came back, but it was distressed. Pained. _"Five is Whiskey India Alpha, I say again, Five is Whiskey India Alpha. I'll do my best to coordinate all three squads, but I can't fight. Over."_

Something clutched in her chest, like someone had grabbed her heart in a fist and squeezed, and for a moment Shepard couldn’t speak or breathe. She’d never been so stupid as to think her platoon sergeant was invincible - Lakatos’ death had robbed her of any illusions of that - but it still felt unreal. 

She swallowed hard. “Roger that, Five. Do what you can, over.” 

_"Affirmative. Radio me whenever you need. Good luck Actual. Five out."_


	6. The Lost Platoon

Shepard’s rifle was uncomfortably warm in her hands.

“We’re running out of heatsinks,” Richards warned, huddling against the cracked and half demolished perimeter wall, hands trembling as she reloaded.

“Roger,” Shepard said grimly. Once they were out of ammunition - it was over. “Share the sinks around, guys.”

Should’ve grabbed spares off of Shou and Bastillo, fuck.

The whine of an engine cut through the now familiar popping of gunfire - from behind them. Shepard whirled, raising her rifle - only to lower it. An Army utility vehicle - a LPV3, a four wheeled light protected vehicle without so much as a machinegun turret - lurched towards them, wheels grinding against the pitted pavement. It attracted gunfire immediately, bullets punching through the metal doors with the same sound as a can being punctured.

The LPV3 shuddered to a stop with its hood touching the perimeter wall, and Lance Corporal Solar tumbled out of the driver’s seat, clutching his rifle.

She’d been wondering where her engineer had wandered off to.

“Solar!” she called over, incredulous, “What the fuck?”

Solar’s voice carried a certain pride with it. “It’s a bomb, ma’am! Where there’s eezo, there’s boom! I’ve done another three, we can use them as a perimeter defence - they’ll think we’re just parking them up to block off some of the smaller gun fire, I doubt they’d even waste rockets on them!”

He came around the back of it, flipping open the rear door, trying to keep his head low. The inside was a mess of wires as he had ripped panels off and threw them carelessly around. “I’ve repurposed the built in radio,” he pointed at a black box that was sitting in the middle of the floor, “so we can detonate it by sending traffic on the frequency. Don’t worry, it’s turned off for now. To arm it, we’ll have to manually turn the radios on in each vehicle. Then I used the secondary ignition system as the detonator,” this time he pointed to a set of yellow coils that he had clearly ripped from under the hood. They too were not affixed to anything, simply sitting out wherever he had the space for them.

“It’s not pretty, but it’ll cause the element zero drive to go critical and, well… boom. That’s the layman's explanation anyway.”

“You...turned the LPV3s into bombs,” she said slowly. “I’m not sure if you’re crazy or a genius, Solar, but I am very sure I don’t want to know how you know how to do that.”

“I’m very certain you don’t, ma’am,” he grinned. He had been a bit of a different man since his legs had been turned to mince and one of his best friends had died, taking a part of Solar - his humour - with him.. But this… In what could be the last moments of his life, the most chaotic battle, the most insane circumstance, he’d gone a little mad. It brought some of the life back to his eyes, some of the spring to his gait.

He laughed, long and loud, as he took his handiwork in. Solar’s omnitool booted up. “I’ve synced all four vehicles’ radios to different frequencies. I’m sending them now. Tell me where you want these vehicles, I’ll move them and then arm them all and return to you. And maybe warn the platoon to stay off these frequencies when I’m in the back.”

“Park the others at here, here and here,” she showed him on the map of the battery, “I’ll set them off when it's time, alright?”

“Roger that! I’ll be back in a minute.” He scurried off, rifle tightly held to his chest as he went back to the other vehicles.

Shepard shook her head, a little bewildered. “Fuckin’ hell.”

A rocket smashed into the wall with a roar, throwing up a cloud of dust, broken metal and concrete, and deadly shrapnel. One of the Marines staggered away from the blast, clutching at his side. Lance Corporal Sun.

“‘Ey!” Shepard yelled at him, “You okay?”

“No ma’am!” Blood was pouring from his abdomen, his face became ashen, and he lost his grip on his rifle. “They got me!” There was no urgency to his voice. In some sick way, it seemed as if he’d already accepted his fate. And why wouldn’t he? A barbed piece of rebar had dislodged itself and caught the Lance Corporal in the midsection. “I need a medic!”

Fuck.

“I’m out,” Ozols announced, pulling back from where he’d been resting the heavy machinegun against the barrier, and slumped against it, half hugging the machinegun to his chest. He was bleeding from his arm and thigh. He hadn’t said anything when he’d been hit.

With no more specialised heatsinks for the HMG...

_We’re fucked._ The Marines of First Squad seemed to have come to the same conclusion when she looked around. Richards’ gaze was resigned when their eyes met. _We’re fucked._

There wasn’t a Marine she looked at who wasn’t bleeding. They were wounded, out of ammunition and out of luck.

Her lips were cracked and dry. Bullets crunched as they hit the concrete wall at her back. She keyed her mic. “Netcall this is Actual. All units fall back to the final protective line. Over.”

Sun stumbled forward, arms pressed to his side, rifle forgotten. He looked confused, walking in a daze to where the tacmap was marked. “I’m on the way, ma’am,” he said, clearly to Shepard, though almost as if he was speaking to no one.

On the radio, Tan had heard the order and repeated it three times, before trying to coordinate an orderly platoon wide retreat while keeping the highest volume of fire up that was possible.

Whitman was a ball of activity, racing back and forth, rifle firing incessantly in the general direction of the attack. “Come on Second,” he roared, fury in his eyes. “You heard the Lieutenant! Move, move!”

As his squad moved back, he rushed forward, into the line of fire to drag a Marine away, but took his rifle instead of reloading. “Get back to the fall back position! I’ll cover you!”

His armour crumpled from the first round. His heart stopped with the second. All at once, there was another dead Marine and all three squad leaders had been killed in action.

Invariably, Tan had seen Whitman’s vitals flash negative on his HUD, because he was already on the radio in their ears, trying to find out who the squad leader would be now that Whitman had died. Even his voice was strained though, his breaths raspy.

Despite it all, the Platoon still retreated.

“I don’t think I can’t walk,” Ozols said from where he was slumped, blood slowly staining his ripped clothes.

“Richards, Rostami,” Shepard called to the two Marines who were in better shape than the others, “Carry him. Federov, help Sun - he’s not gonna get far. Hanson, give me your LMG.”

“Aye aye, ma’am!” He did so without hesitation, clearing it, prepping it to fire and handed it over. “What are you going to do with it?” He asked, a little dumbly.

She handed him her rifle before scooping up Sun’s and slinging it over her back. “I’ll cover your retreat.”

The decision came easily. First Squad’s retreat would be slow, and she was in the best shape of anyone here. She was also a biotic which meant, in terms of cold logic, she’d last longer.

“Yes ma’am.” Hanson kept his head down, taking up a fighting position just behind where his squad was walking back towards the PDB. They were slow, and Hanson moved carefully back with them, trying to pick targets as best as he could.

Second squad had all but crossed the threshold, though they lost PFC Chaopramong in the retreat, who was now splayed, glassy eyed, in the dust after taking a round to the back.

Richards wavered for a moment, clearly reluctant, but Shepard smiled at her. “Look after ‘em.”

Satisfied that her Marines were moving, Shepard jogged towards the hole in the wall. She could hear voices.

_Motherfuckers._

She dove down into the dust, rubble crunching under her belly, digging painfully into her legs. She put down the light machinegun’s bipod and breathed out, aiming at the gap. Waiting. She felt strange, like she was half out of her body.

“Holdfast, this is Actual,” she spoke into her comm, calling Solar’s callsign, “please tell me you’ve got the IEDs set up.”

There was a certain irony about Alliance Marines using IEDs against pirates.

_“Actual, this is Holdfast. Almost. Give me two mikes. Over.”_

There was a rumble of an engine, though barely audible over the din. Solar was moving the last vehicle into position. His theory had been correct so far - the batarians hadn’t even bothered trying to shoot Solar as he moved the vehicles around, instead opting to keep the infantry suppressed or aim for stray targets. The lightly armoured vehicles with no discernable weapons were of absolutely no concern to the enemy.

As soon as Solar had parked the last vehicle, he scrambled into the back, then sprinted towards the battery as fast as his legs would carry him. _“Actual, this is Holdfast. They’re ready to rock. Out.”_

A flicker of movement - a batarian bounded over the shattered wall, rifle raised, followed closely by a turian. She squeezed the trigger. The first burst shattered the batarian’s shields, the second his face. The turian cried out, staggering back as his shields whined under her third burst - but he managed to duck back out of the breach, nearly tripping on his dead battle buddy.

Shepard felt the sudden, insane urge to laugh. Rita had wanted a honeymoon on the homeworld, in Ireland where her ancestors had come from. Was it green there? She could imagine green, rolling hills, Rita laughing in a sundress and leading her somewhere. Somewhere, it didn’t matter where so long as they were together.

A grenade sailed over the wall in a perfect arc. Shepard raised one glowing blue hand and batted at it with a biotic field. It ricocheted off the field and exploded harmlessly in the air.

“Not gonna be that fucking easy, motherfuckers!” she shouted, her breath coming in heaving gasps.

* * *

The ‘final defensive position’ had been carved out of the shell craters by the turian militia volunteers - now the battered survivors of the platoon trickled in, the most mobile taking up positions, the badly wounded ferried inside and their ammunition divided up.

True to her word, Sergeant Jakarius had come for Staff Sergeant Tan, physically carrying him to the line and setting him down where he was somewhat protected but could still see what was going on.

“Where is the lieutenant?” the turian asked, straightening so she loomed over Tan’s broken body.

Corporal Richards looked at her feet, clutching her rifle to her torso. “She’s on the line. She’s staying behind to cover us.”

Tan looked up. “What?”

“She stayed behind,” Richards repeated.

“Who the hell said she could do that?” It took a great deal of effort for Tan to move, but he shifted himself over, booting his omnitool and keying into the radio. Sure enough, the tacmap showed a lone green dot, in the middle of it all.

“Actual, this is Five. Get the fuck back here. The Platoon’s safe. Over.”

_“Negative,”_ Shepard’s voice was interrupted by a long burst of gunfire, _“They’re right by the wire. Over.”_

“Doesn’t matter, we’ll be able to cover you from here. You’re too exposed, they’re fucking everywhere. Over.”

_“We both know that through this side is the best way for them to approach your position,”_ Shepard’s voice was calm and smooth, _“The longer I can keep them from getting through, the better the platoon’s chances. I’m a biotic. I’ll last longer. Over.”_

How infuriating. Tan trusted Shepard. He knew that she was right. They’d been through a lot together, on their tours through the Traverse and even just today. But he was the senior Marine. It was his job to make sure that people didn’t throw their lives away needlessly.

“I didn’t work so hard and support you so you could die a hero.” But his vision was starting to blur. His brain struggling to connect the threads, his focus waning. The lights danced meaninglessly in front of his eyes. “I want you coming home in one piece. Over.”

Shepard laughed, a little, breathless, broken chuckle. _“It’s alright, Tan. We both know the score here. I just...hope what we did meant something.”_

Tan had never felt so defeated in all his life, his long, decorated career in the Marine Corps. He gave a small “Oorah,” before getting back onto the radio. “Me too…” Where his voice was fierce just a few moments ago, it was now simply… tired. Broken. Aged. Even if he wanted to keep fighting, he knew she wouldn’t budged. “Godspeed, Emilia. Give ‘em one for me.”

All he wanted to do was rest. His eyelids drooped, but now he welcomed it, like a warm embrace from an old friend. He didn’t acknowledge Jakarius’ shouted warnings to stay awake, didn’t feel Richard’s pleading hand shaking his shoulder. He was just… so tired. But not for long.

* * *

“Oorah.” Evening was starting to drape itself over the city, Vetus dipping towards the horizon and painting the sky in shades of red and orange.

A rifle muzzle poked around the edge of the broken wall, and Shepard replied with a burst from her borrowed LMG. The rifle’s owner hurriedly ducked back - but she would need to reload soon and then - and then.

In the end, it didn’t take that long. The batarians brought up their own machinegun. The shots impacted around her, sparked off her shields even as she struggled to return fire - and then her shields broke. Her left arm erupted as if someone had pressed a white hot poker into it.

“Fuck!” she scrambled to her feet and ran, biotic shield wrapped tight around her. Every impact drained what remained of her energy, but she made it to the corner of the nearest building, gasping for breath. Her hands were trembling with exhaustion or fear or adrenaline or all three as she shoved a new heatsink into the LMG.

She stuck the muzzle around the corner and sprayed blindly, grinning savagely to herself when she heard a shriek of pain, before she was forced back to cover. When her shields rebooted she dared a glance around the corner -

Fuck. Pirates were streaming through the gap now, over the bodies of the men she’d killed.

_You’re really fighting a fuckin’ platoon by yourself, you absolute fucking idiot._

But she had a few tricks left. The pirate squad taking lead hadn’t realised the threat of the stationary LPV3 shoved up against the wall.

“This better work, Solar,” she muttered and opened her mic on the right frequency.

The explosion was louder than anything she’d ever heard before. For a long minute it was all she could hear, her eardrums close to bursting, and all she could see was flame and dust and smoke. When it was over she was lying on her back, staring at the sky.

_Get up._ She forced herself up onto her elbows, looking for her LMG - she couldn’t see it. At least Sun’s rifle was still secured to her body by its sling. The LPV3 was a twisted, blackened wreck surrounded by bits and pieces that’d been people.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” a batarian struggled towards her, bleeding and streaked with soot. She scrambled to her feet - and then he was on her. They fell to the ground in a tangle. She felt something crunch in her torso as the heavy, armoured body landed on top of her.

A fist snapped her head back. There was blood in her mouth. She could see his four, furious eyes through his visor.

She hissed, biotic energy bursting out of her. The batarian flew back, tripping over the rubble and going down in a heap. When he got up, she was waiting for him. Her first biotic punch crunched into his shoulder. The second shattered his throat.

There was blood on her face, on her hands. She could taste it.

Painfully she pulled Sun’s rifle off her back and shouldered it. More movement.

Time flowed weirdly after that, merging into one long blur of burning pain. Squeezing off shots, moving positions, tossing out biotic fields to fling pirates around or warp their _fucking faces off._ There were so many more of them than her. The outcome was already decided - it was just a matter of how many she took with her.

Her glowing hands wrapped around a batarian’s throat because she was out of heatsinks for her rifle, pushing until his neck snapped like an old rotten twig. There was more pain now, radiating from her amp port like it was a little sun. When she let the dead man fall and touched the back of her neck, her amp was hot enough to burn her fingers.

Shepard could hear the pirates moving. They were inside the wire now. They had to kill her to get to her Marines. And now…

She leant against the nearest wall, panting for breath. She’d burnt her amp out. All she had now was a shitty pistol with a single heatsink. Best...best save one for herself. Better than being a slave or however they’d kill her after what she’d done to their friends.

She let herself slump to the ground, hand wrapped around her pistol in a death grip and leant her head back. The cool concrete was nice against her blistered neck.

They’d push soon, and that’d be it. For her and for her platoon.

The sky was full of fire. She blinked. A flash of familiar blue screamed overhead.

The Navy. The Navy was here.

Her comm buzzed in her ear. She was vaguely shocked it still worked.

_“-etcall, this is Shrike. F-61s are on station and ready for call for fire, over.”_

“Shrike, this is...Lancer White Actual. Request for final protective fire at PDB 23. Enemy inside the wire. Over.”

There were a few seconds of silence on the net as a stunned Naval aviator tried to process what she had said.

_"Lancer White Actual, Shrike,"_ the slick voice came back, confused. _"Say again your last - did you request fire support_ inside _the wire, over?"_

“Affirm,” she insisted. “We’re being overrun. My people are in the centre of the PDB, protecting the towers. If you drop on my marked location...drop on my marked location, over.”

It was a risk, but the towers themselves were meant to survive all kinds of shit. Her platoon would live.

This time, the pilot's voice came back quickly, though it was clearly distressed.

_"Negative, negative, it's danger close. We can't go weapons hot on a friendly, over!"_

There was another voice on the net, either a copilot or a fire controller, though they didn't identify themselves.

_"Time to target, fifteen seconds."_

A pirate stepped around the corner. Shepard shot with her pistol, the bullets skating off his shields.

“Over here!” he roared back to his friends.

She threw herself desperately back, sprinting as bullets bit into the dust behind her feet. “Fucking do it!” she shouted into her comm, “I’m dead anyway and if you don’t drop those bombs, so is the rest of my platoon! Over.”

A bullet crunched into her vest, driving all the breath out of her lungs. She went sprawling, and when she landed her left arm was caught awkwardly beneath her. She felt something snap and tears sprung to her eyes as agony raced up her arm.

She couldn’t get up. There wasn’t any point. She was in too much pain, and there was no way she could fight back-

No. No, not like this. Somehow Shepard found the strength to push herself up as the batarians came closer and struggled forward - and rolled into the nearest deep crater. The landing at the bottom nearly made her pass out as her ribs, head and arm protested.

There was a final crackle in her ear. _"Copy all your last. Weapons hot. Good luck Lancer White Actual. Shrike out."_

There was a roar overhead, the blue streak of a Navy fighter, moving fast and low on an attack approach. Mere seconds later, the first bomb exploded, throwing dust and grit skyward, punching ugly, rough holes into the landscape. The shockwaves as more bombs burst broke pirate bodies and racked Emilia's own. She could feel it in her bones.

The world exploded around her and Shepard let the darkness wash over her.

* * *

The platoon huddled close, pushing their bodies as far to the ground as they could while bombs detonated only a few hundred metres from where they were.

"Fuck, that was danger close!" Solar gave a cheer though as he recognised the fast mover overhead as one of theirs. "I never thought I'd be glad to see a Navy vessel!"

Though he was in agony, some life had returned to Sun's sickened face. "Hell yeah! They're breaking the attack! We're going to make it!"

Richards on the other hand looked kind of sick, as she looked between where the bombs had dropped and her limited HUD. She couldn’t see Shepard’s blue dot on the tac map anymore.

_“Lancer White this is Lancer Red Actual, over.”_ A familiar voice over the radio. Lieutenant Dowdy. A ring knocker asshole that Richards almost cried to hear.

In that moment Corporal Richards came to the horrible conclusion that she was in charge. “Lancer Red, Lancer White ...Actual copies, over.”

Dowdy's voice contained surprise, obviously from not hearing either Shepard's familiar voice, or a deep male voice that might have belonged to Tan. _"Lancer White Actual, this is Lancer Red Actual. Can you provide casrep, over?"_

Richards chuckled humorlessly, feeling tears prick at the corners of her eyes, “Heavy casualties. We’re combat ineffective and I don’t think we can move on our own. At least seven KIA, over.”

Someone nearby swore, though everyone was so broken, wounded, or exhausted, that it was impossible to tell who.

Even Dowdy's voice changed again, this time in shock. Pain. _"Roger Lancer White Actual, Lancer Red is inbound, ETA two mikes. Hold tight, over."_

“Copy that. Out.”

Four shuttles in Alliance blue streaked over head, nosing up for landing. The inside of the battery was cratered and ripped apart from the fighting, so instead they landed on the road behind the PDB. First Platoon spilled out of their shuttles, spreading out to secure the battery.

A trio headed straight for Second Platoon’s position. Lieutenant Dowdy, and the company commander and First Sergeant.

“Sirs, Top,” Richards struggled to her feet, “Corporal Richards.”

Top at least would know her, he knew all of his Marines, but her brain felt like it’d been through a blender - her thoughts were jumbled altogether.

"Good to see you, Corporal," Sanchez said. He was a well-liked Top. Generally friendly, quite approachable but fiercely protective of his Marines.

Cormac was a bit more strict and the pair made a good team. "We're glad to finally hear from you," the Staff Lieutenant added. "Where's Shepard and Tan?"

Solar pointed to the Asian man breathing weakly, but rapidly in the dirt, streaked with blood. "Staff Sergeant Tan is here, sir. He's seriously wounded."

“Sir, I suggest we start loading our worst wounded onto the shuttles immediately. We’ve got some who won’t make it if they don’t get treatment soon, including Tan. Tilki-”

“Tilki’s dead,” Sergeant Jakarius called from where she’d been keeping an eye on Tan, trying to keep him alive.

“Fuck. Well, we moved most of the wounded inside.”

Cormac nodded. "Dowdy, organise your platoon to start shipping wounded back."

"Yes sir. I'll take Third Squad off security and do it right away." He hurried off.

"Sir," Solar said, looking up from where he crouched, gingerly biting his lip. "Shepard - the LT, she stayed back and covered our retreat. The blinks didn't get through, but those bombs were awfully close to her. We need to see if she's alright."

“Permission for Solar and I to go look for her, sir?” Richards said immediately, grabbing her rifle from where she’d left it leant against the rubble next to her.

Cormac looked concerned. The two of them had been through the grinder - no sleep, little food, and had seen many die. But they were keen. If he were in their situation, he would want to know what happened to his Platoon Commander too.

He shared a look with Sanchez, who gave a small nod.

"Alright. But you're still Lancer White Actual. We'll organise your platoon's medevac. You two will be on the last shuttle to get checked yourself, but if you can't find her before it leaves, Dowdy's platoon will take over. Clear?"

“Roger, sir.Thank you. C’mon Solar.” Richards scrambled up and out of the foxhole, digging her feet into the crumbling dirt. “Stay aware, there might be stragglers.”

"Roger." He clutched his rifle tight, acutely aware of the adrenaline pounding in his ear. He had a small dribble of blood coming from his neck, just a minor graze that barely broken skin, and a few other smaller cuts and abrasions, but he didn't feel them.

"This is fucked," he said hollowly. It reminded him of Lakatos' death. The smell of burning flesh hung over the air now, like it did over Lakatos' corpse. "Tan's barely clinging on. Rosie and Vanh are gone… I hope Shepard's okay."

“Me too,” Richards said grimly, raising her rifle as they came around the corner of the battery. She could hear shouts and movement as one of First Platoon’s squads swept around the perimeter, and the others carried her wounded her friends to the shuttles. “Fuck man, how does this happen? Why was the Navy not here? Fuck!”

She kicked a rock furiously.

"Intel dropped the ball, I think," he said glumly. "We got fuckin'- pirates and blink regulars, with AFVs landing on Goddamn Elysium. This kind of thing takes months to plan and stinks of shit from a mile away. How the hell did the AIA miss it?!"

He shook his head, sweeping his arc carefully. He had to be careful with his feet because the ground was so pocked with impact holes that he feared breaking his neck.

There were bodies now - the torn up remnants of the pirate platoon. Everything stunk of death and Richards could see the twisted wreckage of the LPV3 lying on its side near what had been the perimeter. “Shepard!”

No answer. It felt like the two Marines were all alone with the dead.

They pushed forward, creeping cautiously beyond the wire. The gunfire had mostly abated now, no golden or red streaks painted the darkening sky. Solar had to step over a turian corpse, torn in half by the explosion. "Lieutenant Shepard!"

There - in the midst of all the grey rubble and dust, Richards saw a flash of colour. She scrambled down the side of the artillery shell crater. “Found her! Solar, here!”

Lieutenant Shepard was on her side, half covered in rubble and dirt thrown up by the bombs, dark skin so coated in concrete dust that she looked like a ghost. Richards half-fell beside her and hurriedly pulled bits of broken concrete off her.

She was bleeding from a bullet graze to a very broken arm - she was _bleeding_. Dead people didn’t bleed.

“She’s alive! Fuck, ma’am, how the fuck are you alive?” When Richards pressed two fingers to Shepard’s carotid artery, her heartbeat was fast and thready under her fingers. Too fast.

Solar joined her in a flash, pulling a canteen loose from his chest rig and pouring what little water he had on her face, clearing some of the dirt and brushing the bigger bits away.

"She's breathing at least," he said hurriedly. "Do you think we can move her together? Watch that arm." Solar's eyes tracked the horribly disfigured limb. Without the adrenaline, he'd be sick.

Richards nodded, “Take your shirt off - we’ll use it to bind her arm to her body, then carry her, alright?”

"Got it." Solar ripped the velcro from his ballistic vest and tossed it aside, and then brought his shirt - a Bad Bitches tour shirt that he would surely miss - and handed it to Richards to fold before putting the vest back on over his bare chest.

While he waited for Richards to bind Shepards arm, he tried his best to create a smooth even exit for them to walk Shepard up. It was mostly futile, but Shepard's crater at least wasn't so steep now.

Solar grabbed Shepard under the arms while Richards grabbed her legs and together they painfully, slowly, carried her back towards the LZ. Above them, the first shuttle carrying the wounded lifted off with a familiar warbling hum.

Cormac and Sanchez were nearby. "Good work, you two!" The CO seemed proud of them. "Get yourselves on the next shuttle and get yourself checked out, have some food, and we'll organise the rest of your platoon later, okay?"

"Yessir," Solar nodded.

Cormac walked towards the perimeter slowly, where Dowdy was having a brief o-group with his squad leaders. Sanchez followed closely, the pair drinking in the scene of horror, death, and destruction in a once safe place. Finally, Cormac allowed the fury to show in his eyes.

"How the fuck did this happen, Emilio? At least seven dead, a dozen more wounded… Three of my squad leaders killed, a Staff Sergeant _and_ a Platoon Commander on death's door. This is _Elysium_."

"I know, John. Whatever happened… This was a royal fuck-up."

"One thing's for sure," Cormac said, voice unwavering, the edge as hard as steel. "I'm going to make sure there's blood."


	7. Epilogue

Shepard woke the third time to the soft hum of conversation, white ceiling above her and a foul taste in her mouth. Rita was curled up in the chair next to her bed, talking softly with her mother. Her mother, who’d now at least changed out of her flight suit after first rushing to the hospital as soon as the battle had ended - the SSV _Marie Curie_ had been one of the responding ships, so her mum’s squadron had been amongst the first to launch.

“Hey babe,” Rita noticed her wake up, leaning over to press a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. Shepard’s mouth was painful and swollen from the shrapnel that’d ripped her face up - they’d needed to glue her lip together.

“Hey,” she whispered back, wincing as the tug of her lip. Her whole body still ached two days after the battle. The doctors had given her a list of her injuries: lacerations to the face, concussion, biotic induced hypoglycemia, broken ribs and a broken arm. Her arm had been broken badly enough to need surgery.

She’d had a seizure, apparently. She didn’t remember it.

Shepard hadn’t expected to wake up. They’d told her the crater she’d rolled herself into had probably saved her life when the bombs had dropped. She still didn’t quite know what to do with herself.

Hannah rose from her chair to press her own kiss to Emilia’s hair. “How’re you feeling?”

“Not great,” she admitted.

“The neurologist will be around soon, the resident said,” Rita grabbed her unbroken hand, squeezing gently.

“Yeah, okay.”

Someone knocked on the door, and then two men stepped into the room. Staff Lieutenant Cormac and First Sergeant Sanchez wore dress uniforms and ribbons and looked clean. Shepard felt very underdressed in her hospital gown all of a sudden.

"Good morning, ma'am, Lieutenants," Cormac said soflty.

"You don't mind if we come in, do you ma'am?"

Hannah looked over at her daughter with a raised eyebrow - and Shepard shrugged. If her bosses wanted to talk to her…

“Of course not, Staff Lieutenant. Come in.”

“Morning,” Rita murmured. She hadn’t let go of Shepard’s hand yet.

“Hi Sir, Top.” Had they visited her before? It was hard to remember. The neurologist had said that was to be expected after hitting her head like she had, and after a seizure.

"It's good to see you awake, ma'am," Sanchez lsaid, with a smile. The corners of his eyes crinkled up, but the bags undee his eyes denoted that he had been working hard and probably skipping sleep. "How are you feeling?"

“Kinda like I got run over by a truck, Top,” she admitted.

“Or a 120kg bomb,” Hannah muttered, shooting her a sharp glare. She had been….pretty upset about the whole getting Shrike Squadron to drop bombs on her position. Shepard hoped for the pilots’ sakes they were on the _Einstein,_ not the _Marie Curie._

Sanchez chuckled. "You certainly slept like you were."

"I'm glad you're awake. I'm sorry to say this visit isn't exactly social. We've been in and out of meetings for the past few days. Admiral Hackett is going to be coming by, when you're feeling up to it, and speaking to you. The Navy really wants to get ahead of this whole thing and Hackett's been put in charge."

"But only when you're up to it," Sanchez stressed. "Do you think that would be okay?"

“Hackett?” Shepard asked.

“The Vice Admiral who commanded the relief force, love,” Hannah told her before focusing on Cormac, “I don’t know that’s the best idea. Emilia’s still dealing with a lot of...neurological symptoms.”

“They said I should recover fine, Mum,” Shepard said a little irritably. “It’ll be fine. I can talk to him.”

"I understand," Cormac said to Hannah. "And so does the Admiral. He'll have to make sure the doctors say you can provide a coherent recollection of the events. He'll be checking in with Staff Sergeant Tan, too, when he wakes up, as well as other survivors from the Platoon."

“Tan’s alive?” she smiled - then winced as her lip tugged. Relief settled into her, “Is he okay?”

Cormac put a hand to his head. "I'm sorry, I keep forgetting who knows what."

"He's alive," Sanchez offered. "But he's in a coma."

"When they brought him in, he was just holding on, even worse than you were. He had to have surgery to fix his internal injuries and he's received significant spinal damage. The doctors will know more when he wakes and they can assess his responsiveness. But they had to induce the coma."

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions about your platoon. We can try to answer them for you."

“Oh.” The relief trickled right out of her. Rita squeezed her hand. Part of her felt weird holding her fiancee’s hand like this in front of her boss, but most of her needed the contact. “I guess...how many? How many of my Marines died? Are all my people accounted for?”

Accountability, accountability - it was driven into your head as a Marine NCO or officer. Know where your people are. She didn’t know anything.

"They are. But we, uh… Well, we couldn't find all the bodies. From what I heard from Corporal Richards, Sergeant Rosenberg took a direct hit."

Sanchez jumped in. "Ten dead in total. Sergeants Vanh, Whitman and Rosenberg, Corporals Bustillo and Lee, Lance Corporals Anker, Chaopramong and Romero,i and PFC Vlahovic."

"And Corpsman Tilki. Most of the rest of the platoon has injuries. Some are very serious, like Tan's. Some are quite serious, but not quite that bad, like you. And almost everyone has some kind of minor wounds."

“Fuck,” was all she could think to say. She swallowed, staring hard at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry, babe,” Rita whispered, kissing the back of her hand.

“Can I...get a report on the wounded?” she managed. “Where are the others, the ones not in hospital?”

"We're still compiling that. But I promise you'll be the first one I give it too. I'm sorry, Lieutenant."

"The Platoon has been stood down for the time being. They're combat ineffective. They're aboard the _Cairo_. When it returns to Arcturus, it's likely they'll be given some extended leave while we try to figure the company's situation out."

Cormac looked grim. "We might have to finish the deployment without your platoon - but the entire battalion has been rocked by this. The entire Alliance, really. You've…" He shared a look with Sanchez, not knowing if he should divulge the next bit.

But Sanchez finished the sentence anyway. No need to lie to the poor woman. "You've been all over the news."

Hannah and Rita exchanged a _glance._

“What, why? And why didn’t you two tell me what’s going on?” She shot a glance at her fiancee and mother.

“We didn’t want you to worry, okay?” Rita justified, “It’s...the media. They’ve been trying to get access to you, though I think your mum scared them off.”

Sanchez looked a little guilty, but he didn't regret saying anything.

"My apologies," Cormac said to the two women. "But the Navy thinks you should know. Lieutenant McCormick is right. It's just the media. Their narrative right now is 'Shepard's last stand', the brave actions that stopped a colony falling and there's some truth to it. The Navy has been embarrassed by this. For very obvious reasons."

“Yes, well, the cluster commander looks ridiculous right now and for good reason,” Hannah said, crossing her arms, “Either he’s ridiculously imcompetent or he was paid off. Heads will be rolling.”

“Good,” Shepard said flatly. “I don’t get what the Navy being embarrassed has to do with me though. I’m a Marine lieutenant. I’m not brass.”

"It's about spin," Cormac said, though he was clearly uncomfortable. "They know they can't say they weren't at fault, but they can at least put you on a pedestal. Give folks a hero."

"We're on it, though."

The Staff Lieutenant's face changed again, and he let the fire and fury show. "I'm not going to hang you out to dry, or let the Navy try and get off lightly, my career be damned. This was their fuck-up and they won't take any more of my Marines with them."

“I don’t understand,” her head hurt.

“The Marine Corps wants you as its poster girl,” Hannah said derisively, “and there’s those in the Navy already digging their heels in about your award packet because it means admitting that the Navy fucked up. But...it’s not going to happen. I won’t let it.”

Shepard breathed in unsteadily. “What happened to ‘no nepotism’?”

“That applies to earning your rank,” Hannah crossed her arms, “not you getting hung out to dry so people on stars on their shoulders can pretend they’re not to blame. Your grandmother will agree.”

"Make no mistake, what you did was nothing short of heroic, and your platoon." Cormac licked his lips. "The next battleground is you, it would seem. But you're not alone. I want you to know that."

“Thnks. Fuck, this,” she chuckled uneasily, “this is way beyond my paygrade. We were just...looking at wedding venues, sir. I don’t...how did this happen?”

"We don't… have all the answers yet."

"One thing's for certain though, you did fight Hegemony External Forces." Sanchez booted his omnitool and showed some photos of recovered armour and weapons. "They're deniable assets, but we've seen this kind of thing. It was likely facilitated by the batarians with some kind of warlord or pirate king leading the raid."

“I’ve heard that Elanos Haliat is the most likely candidate. Unfortunately made it out of the battle,” Hannah added, “but even a warlord like Haliat would need immense funding to pull off an attack like this. The batarians have their fingerprints all over this.”

Rita had been watching Shepard’s face and frowned, squeezing her fingers, “You okay, babe?”

“I just,” Shepard shrugged, “It’s a lot, you know.”

“I know. If you need to rest…”

“I...Tilki? I need to write a packet for Tilki. What he did - it’s, it’s Star of Terra worthy.”

Cormac nodded. "It's underway, both yours and Tilki's. Tan for a Navy cross, too. But if you have anything to add, please let me know.. I was told, by the turian soldier, Jakarius. He treated wounded even when he knew he was approaching the end. He shielded their bodies with his own from artillery and only used the bare minimum supplies to keep himself alive long enough to help more people. The Navy's lost one of its best."

“Thanks, sir.” What he said registered and she blinked, “Mine?”

"Your Star of Terra," Cormac repeated.

"You fought until biotic exhaustion, facing a platoon strength enemy on your own, despite your wounds, and ordered ordnance dropped on yourself. If you didn't do what you had done, the survivors would have died, no question about it."

"I'm proud to have you in my Company, Lieutenant."

Shepard just stared at him for a long time.

“Emilia’s pretty tired,” Rita jumped in, lifting her chin, “She had a seizure during her medevac. She needs to rest. Is there anything else?”

"No, sorry ma'am," Sanchez said. "We'll get out of your hair."

"Just remember about Admiral Hackett, okay Shepard? If you need anything, don't hesitate to call the Top or myself. We'll try to check in when we can. And maybe prep you a little bit, when you're feeling better."

“Yeah, well, let the Admiral know I’ll see him when he wants. Not like I'm going anywhere.”

"Understood. Rest up. We need you in fighting shape as soon as possible, oorah?"

“Yessir.”

* * *

Vice Admiral Steven Hackett didn’t visit for a couple of days. The scans continued, as did another surgery on Shepard’s arm. She wasn’t allowed to use her biotics for at least a month, her bioticist had said. There was a lot of ‘hurry and wait for your body to heal’. Shepard just wanted to be discharged so she could go see her Marines.

Hannah couldn’t spend all of her time at the hospital - she still had a squadron to run after all. The fleet was hunting pirate remnants across the Vetus system.

“You know...how you joked about getting married in Ricardo’s?” Rita asked, just after the nurses had brought Shepard’s lunch.

Shepard paused, setting down her fork. “Yeah.”

That felt like an eternity ago.

“When you get out of here...let’s just get married. I don’t care if it’s the Illyria Court House.”

“I don’t think the Illyria Court House is open,” Shepard said blankly.

“Emilia,” Rita’s clear blue eyes were full of tears.

“Shit, sorry, I’m sorry,” she grabbed Rita’s hand and kissed her fingertips gingerly, “I just - you wanted a big wedding. The whole thing.”

“Yes, I did,” Rita smiled tearily, “until I heard a bomb being dropped on you over a comm.”

She hadn’t thought about Rita being on the network. She hadn’t really thought of Rita at all once she’d made that decision. What kind of person didn’t think about the woman they loved in a situation like that?

“I...okay. We’ll find someone to marry us.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

A knock at the door. Shepard looked up. A tall, broad shouldered man with greying hair stood in the doorway. She recognised him from the news reports. Vice Admiral Hackett, the man who’d led the relief force.

“Admiral, sir.”

He took his peaked cap off and placed it under his arm. "Don't get up," he said smoothly, moving towards Rita. "Vice Admiral Stephen Hackett," he held his hand out towards the young woman to shake. "You must be Sub-Lieutenant McCormick."

“Uh- yessir. I’m Emilia’s fiancee. You...probably already know that. Sir.” She shook his hand. Hackett was something of a legend in the Navy, rising from enlisted quartermaster to admiral, and in most other situations Shepard would be teasing her for the stars in her eyes.

"I did. But it's good to meet you. And Lieutenant Shepard. Excellent to finally see you in person. I'd shake your hand too, but the cast." He took the empty seat beside Rita, his frame eclipsing both the chair and the comparatively much smaller woman. "How are you coping with everything?"

“I’m doing...as well as can be expected, sir.” She’d cried a few times, over the KIAs. Sometimes it hit her all at once and she felt like her chest was being crushed. “They fixed my arm and my implant up, so…”

"That's good. I know Staff Lieutenant Cormac talked to you about this. The Navy has appointed me to conduct the investigation into the issues surrounding the battle on Elysium. The doctors say you should be okay to talk for the time being, so I'd like to ask you some questions about the events."

“Yessir, I did hear. Whatever questions you have, I’ll answer to the best of my ability.”

Hackett nodded. He had a grizzled face, which could be expected from the tales spun of his long career, but little emotion crossed it. His voice remained even, and he didn't let his own biases colour it.

"I'll start at the beginning. What were you and the platoon doing when you realised Illyria was under attack?"

“Rita and I were looking at wedding venues. My sergeants and...Corpsman Tilki were at a bar I think. Most of the Marines were, you know, drinking together. We hadn’t had shore leave in a while.”

"I noticed you managed to get the platoon together quite quickly. What kind of support did the Army provide?"

“We got weapons, vests from the Army Colonial Guard armoury. They gave us mortar support - two 81mm smart mortars - and a squad who ran us ammunition, moved the wounded etc. Also the battery crew of course, they fixed and fired the battery.”

Hackett nodded. "That was your priority, wasn't it, the battery? I know you established a makeshift aid post to treat wounded and civilians. What other objectives and priorities did you have?"

“I focused on the battery pretty early on because I knew that without it the city was fu - in trouble, sir. We also destroyed the bridge on - I forgot the name of the road, sorry sir. Near the battery. We destroyed it to block off AFV access deeper into the city.”

"Good call." Hackett reached into his jacket and pulled out a small envelope, which he opened, retrieving six small, printed, physical photos. "I'm going to stop for a minute and show you some pictures. These are very sensitive, which is why they're not electronic." Admiral Hackett stopd up and laid them in three columns of two on Shepard's bed, facing the Lieutenant.

They were taken from different angles and with different exposures. Three looked to be from security footage, one was a mugshot, and the last two were stills taken from combat cameras. The pictures themselves were taken of individuals. Two turians, two batarians, a human and a krogan.

"You might have heard some rumors about who was behind the attack." Hackett pointed to one of the combat footage stills that showed a turian. He looked fierce and wild, in full armour, rising above the pirates around him. The only exposed flesh was his head, as he didn't wear a helmet. His mandibles were splayed and he had cruel, icy eyes and pale plates spattered with blood - some human, some not.

"This is Elanos Haliat. I'm sure you would have heard the name. He's something of a pirate kingpin and nothing but trouble for the Alliance - and our current prime suspect. Did you see him, or any of these other people there? Take your time."

Shepard studied the holos for a long moment. “I saw him,” she tapped one of the batarians, “but not the others. This guy, he led the last attack on the battery. He broke my ribs.”

Hackett took it back. "That is Korek Gar'nekan. He's one of Haliat's lieutenants. He came from a high caste batarian family on Khar'shan and he's a money man. We've suspected that he has been able to put Haliat in touch with higher class financiers. It's possible he organised the payrolling of the entire operation. Did you kill him?"

“Yeah. Before the bomb.” Shepard scratched at the skin above her cast. The itching underneath it was driving her crazy.

"Good." Hackett collected the photos and restored them to the envelope which he tucked away again. "That confirmed our suspicions pretty definitively. I'll tell intelligence that Haliat is on our hitlist. Now, I've just got a few questions about how the enemy fought. If you remember, what kind of troop strength did they have, how many got away? Did they fight like soldiers or slavers?"

“There was at least a company attacking the PDB, maybe even a battalion. The first attacks were squad and platoon strength, then company. They had IFVs and a platoon of tanks and lots of infantry. I’d say they had at least some training as a combined arms force, albeit maybe not to the level of our troops.” They’d made a few mistakes attacking her platoon, mistakes a proper professional military force might not have. “It was about a platoon that made it in the wire, so I...I don’t know how many retreated when I ordered the bombs dropped, sir.”

"From what I've pieced together so far, it seems you did a damn fine job. I'll generate a report from the info you've given me and give it back to you to read to make sure you agree." He stood up again. "You've done the Marine Corps proud. I'm looking forward to watching the president pinning the Star of Terra on you."

“...thank you, sir.”

Shepard watched the admiral leave. When the door shut behind him, she had the sudden feeling that her entire life had shifted course.

* * *

[Zaynzibar](https://soundcloud.com/user-277475918-347269427) · [ANN Attack On Elysium Radio Broadcast 2176](https://soundcloud.com/user-277475918-347269427/ann-attack-on-elysium-radio-broadcast-2177)

ANDREW SODERMAN: Welcome back to the Alliance News Network, I'm Andrew Soderman from ANN, and this is the news at nine. If you're just joining us, we're in our third continuous day of coverage of the incredibly brave and selfless actions of Emilia Shepard, the twenty two year old Systems Alliance Marine Corps Lieutenant who singlehandedly prevented Elysium from being captured by pirate forces.

ANDREW SODERMAN: We've just overnight received the updated casualty figures, and the Systems Alliance Defence Force have confirmed that there are ten dead and eighteen wounded from Lieutenant Shepard's platoon. Names of those killed or wounded in action have not yet been provided to the ANN, however an SADF spokesperson has comfirmed that the families have all been notified and we should be getting that list within the next couple of days. We'll be sure to keep you updated, so don't forget to tune in every day at nine, GMT zero.

ANDREW SODERMAN: The SADF has not yet provided any answers as to how an overwhelming pirate force managed to bypass the Elysian defences and land troops on the colony's surface, but we do have confirmation that an investigation is currently underway. Lieutenant Commander Malesevic of the Systems Alliance Navy Press Division had this to say.

LIEUTENANT COMMANDER MALESEVIC: The Systems Alliance Defence Force is committed to understanding the factors that contributed to a serious breach of colonial security and how we can prevent anything of this magnitude happening again. The Alliance has never stopped looking for ways to make colonies or our servicemen and women safe. While we cannot confirm any details of the investigation, we do have cause to suspect that state actors played a part in the attack.

LIEUTENANT COMMANDER MALESEVIC: The Systems Alliance gives its sincerest gratitude to Lieutenant Shepard and her Marine Platoon and we each owe a debt that can never be repaid.

ANDREW SODERMAN: The ANN understands that the SADF are also looking closely at issuing medals of valour and courage to individual members of Lieutenant Shepard's platoon, including two Stars of Terra to Hospitalman Third Class Tilki who unfortunately gave his life saving others, and one to Lieutenant Shepard herself for her actions in preventing the city and colony from falling. A Navy Cross, the second highest award for gallantry, as well as multiple silver and bronze stars are also being considered for members of the platoon.

ANDREW SODERMAN: The opposition leader, Mister Amobi Okoye, has also demanded answers, on behalf of all Alliance citizens, as to how something like this could have occured. Experts believe this could have significant negative effects for the Conservative coalition in the upcoming election. We cross now to question time in parliament.

AMOBI OKOYE: -vy Intelligence dropped the ball, Madam Speaker, and that is a characteristic of this government, from military policy, to healthcare, to colonial outreach that is omnipresent and frankly unacceptable! The Alliance deserves better but we are not surprised by the incompetence that plagues every level of this government when those three clowns run the- 

SPEAKER ELEANOR SPENCER: The Member for Nigeria will address all Members by their titles.

AMOBI OKOYE: Apologies Madam Speaker, I withdraw that comment. However, the sentiment that rings true, from my seat on Earth to the far reaches of Alliance space is that only in this government, under this leadership could so catastrophic a disaster occur! I know that I speak for all citizens of the Alliance when I ask: why is the security and the safety of our colonial systems up to the independent gallantry of one twenty two year old Marine Corps Lieutenant?! This government failed the people of Elysium, it failed the members of Lieutenant Shepard's Platoon and it failed the Systems Alliance! 

ANDREW SODERMAN: A very sobering response from the opposition leader there. That really is the question on everyone's minds right now, how could the government let this happen? Had Lieutenant Shepard not been present, it is undoubtedly true that Elysium would have fallen to the pirate attack.

ANDREW SODERMAN: That's all for now though, we go to your regional correspondent for the weather, and we'll return to our coverage of Elysium after a short break. I'm Andrew Soderman and you're listening to the Alliance News Network.


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